


The Good Die Young

by aributt



Category: Dude That's My Ghost!, dtmg - Fandom
Genre: (being a ghost does involve death), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Character Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, Ghost!Spencer, M/M, alive!billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aributt/pseuds/aributt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Popstar Billy Joe Cobra's agent sends him out for an appearance at the site of the burned-down home of his distant relatives, where he meets the ghost of Spencer Wright. One dead kid manages to change Billy's life irrevocably - for better or for worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Aryashi. Dedicated to my IRL bro who has listened to me talk about this at length without judgment.

There's no goddamn reason Billy Joe Cobra should be out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There are shows to perform, alcohol to drink, and ladies - lots of ladies, just throwing themselves at him (and well, some men too, but unfortunately certain indulgences were still frowned upon by the Hollywood elite). God, yeah, that's what Billy could use right now after the seemingly eternal plane ride here and the least interesting chauffer in what had to be the entire world: some attention.

 

Billy glances into the front mirror of the luxury car he's in, trying to catch the driver's gaze from the backseat. Nope. Nothin'. Goddammit, what's Billy Joe Cobra with no one to listen to him and be charmed by his every action? Fuckin' nothin', that's what.

 

After a couple of rolling hills and some beautiful scenery (that might be charming to someone who hadn't seen everything in the world and experienced just about everything to go with it), they finally arrive at their destination. Billy would have had no idea had he not been tipped off by the swarm of paparazzi waiting for him on the suburban lawn covered with bits of debris. No respect, people always say, but Billy wouldn't have it any other way. Bring on the attention.

 

Except this time Billy couldn't act like usual - couldn't wink at the camera, tell some sick jokes that were definitely hilarious (goddamn haters), or strike a sexy pose. This is supposed to be...solemn? Yeah, that's the right word. Sure, Billy had dropped out of school to become the pop star he was always meant to be but that didn't mean he's stupid. You need words to write music even if the songs are just about how flawless you were.

 

_\- and oh GOD his mind is wandering again he needs to just get. himself. together. Fuck. Lay it on thick, Billy Joe Cobra, show them how much you definitely care about these distant relatives of yours who died in that tragic house fire. You know, Billy, the ones you never even knew about until the minor headline yesterday._

 

Look, Billy Joe Cobra isn't some emotionally stunted sociopath. It's sad that things happened the way they did, that this family had to die. Sad like when you read a headline story on MSN about some poor folks but you just make a little tutting noise and then move on to another story. Billy had no connection to these people, and faking it to improve his image to the press isn't his idea of a good time. Damn Miranda - his agent is good at her job, he'd give her that, but that didn't make following her orders and letting her choreograph his life any more enjoyable.

 

He steps out of the car door, welcoming the oncoming flashes and pops and does his best to look pained. " _I want you to go out and dig a little, Billy. Like it's all familiar and you just need a trace of the family that left you behind. Make it a good show. Fuck, are you even listening Mr. COHEN?"_

Yeah, alright Miranda. You win, as always.

 

Billy marches on to the pile of wreckage that used to be a home. A husband, a wife, and two kids. A teenage boy and a little girl. Touching all that remained of their life for what was essentially political gain felt dirty. But they weren't exactly around to be upset anymore, were they? Some of the walls of the house remained charred but fairly intact. You could make out the shape of rooms and god Billy didn't want to really think about it - think about who slept where, and where they shared meals together... he could hear more flashes. He must have looked particularly empathetic. Best time to rummage around as any.

 

Billy kneels down in a room that looks like it could have been a bedroom if you cleared out all the soot. The house is a hauntingly intact - a skeleton of damaged walls remains, rooms filled with blackened furniture. He remembers, as he kneels, what he's heard about deaths caused by fire. How your joints just shrivel up in the heat so you die on your knees with your hands together like you're praying. He wonders if someone died on their knees right where he's kneeling now, trying to escape through all the smoke but unable to breathe or move -

 

God, he needs some drugs. His mind is wandering far too much today in far too many terrible directions and he just needs to GROUND himself so he reaches out for the nearest thing and his hand falls on an old video camera. Good a time as any to follow Miranda's choreography right? So he holds it up to his face, inspecting it in a way he hopes is Miranda-approved when he sees out of the corner of his eye -

 

A kid.

 

There's a fucking kid on the remains of a bed.

 

Jesus, okay, maybe he didn't need any drugs. Had he shot up lately jesus fuck there's a goddamn KID there and-

 

and Billy could see right through him.

 

 _Fuck Billy, you need to just take it easy bro_ he thinks and then the kid, previously curled up with his head in his hands, looks up and meets Billy's eyes. Cautiously. Like he's looked at people before hoping they'd see him only to be disappointed.

 

Well, Billy Joe Cobra isn't one to disappoint. "Hey lil bro, you okay?"

 

The kid's eyes widen in shock and he jumps up from the bed frame, an awkward combination of stumbling and floating. Right. So maybe this kid could also...fly.

 

That's when Billy remembers he isn't alone and _shit_ did he actually say that out loud? Christ, if that didn't make him seem insane he didn't know what would. If Miranda were watching he'd imagine her expression to be abject horror and her mind whirling with excuses to play it off and press releases about how he was just so overcome with grief he went a little bit crazy. Fuck, that kid's still looking at him with this odd mixture of horror and disbelief and happiness. What is he supposed to do? Pop, pop, pop go the cameras. Billy turns around to meet them, placing the handheld video camera down.

 

"Hey...as much as I love you guys, could I get a little bit of privacy here?"

 

Hah. Askin' the paps for privacy. Right. But it appeared at least a few of them had some ethical boundaries and turned away. Billy does the old trick to dissuade the rest: stand completely still in the same position until they couldn't get any more interesting shots. Bye, bitches.

 

He finally turns to look back at the kid that may or may not be some whacked out LSD hallucination only to find he isn't there anymore. Well, fuck. All that effort and he couldn't even keep his own hallucination there. But, bro, is it him or is it suddenly just a little colder? Billy takes an involuntary step back, accidentally kicking the video camera he placed back on the floor.

 

There's a flash of _something_ right in front of his face and a quick strangled cry of "ellooo-" when he does it.

 

Wait. The camera. Billy knows somewhere in the back of his mind this is ridiculous, but he reaches down to touch it anyway.

 

"-od, I knew it was hoping for too much! You can't even see me, can you, Mister Pretentious? I don't even know what you're doing here or what the hell is going on but can you take your terrible sense of fashion and paparazzi somewhere else because _some of us are trying to grieve here,"_ the kid rants half at Billy and half to himself.

 

"Hey, bromigo, my sense of fashion is fuckin' flawless."

 

The kid does the same little float-stumble as before. "Y-you...you can hear me?"

 

"Loud and clear, bro," Billy responds, deciding to just kinda roll with it. It's like when you get high and you just gotta go along for the ride - if you fight it, you get problems. Jumping off a rollercoaster while it's still running hasn't gotten anyone anywhere good. "And you're one to be criticizing my choice of clothes when you're in a t-shirt and jeans."

 

"You...you can see me too?" the kid asks full of wonder. Jesus, does he have to look like that? So incredulously afraid to be happy but so hopeful he just can't help it? Contrary to what some may say, Billy Joe Cobra does have a heart and damn it might just be breaking right now.

 

"Yeah, kid. I can see you. And it's just you and me now...for the most part," he says glancing over his shoulder at the paps loading up their vans. "So...you want to tell me why I can only see you when I'm touching this camera? Or why you can float?"

 

The kid looks confused at first. "I didn't know about the camera..." he mutters to himself. Then his face turns into what Billy likes to call the 'I'm A Little Shit'-face. "Isn't it polite to ask someone their name first?"

 

Jesus. Okay. "Look, I bet I already know what your name is... _Steven_."

 

There is a period of awkward silence and _fuck_ Billy remembered the name from the article wrong didn't he, it's some other two-syllable 'S' name. "Spencer!" he spits out quickly. "Spencer..." he says again, slowly.

 

The kid looks down and mutters, "Yeah, that's me. So I guess you know I'm dead, huh?"

 

That's when Billy realizes he's got something really, terribly huge on his hands. He's not just dealing with some figment of his imagination, or even a fan he'll never talk to again. This is a kid who is dealing with the loss of everything he's ever had, including his own life. Billy is not equipped for this at all, he's always been stunted in the area of caring about others. But Billy knows that when he looks in the mirror and he's got the same look on his face this kid - Spencer - has now...he wants to be comforted. He wants to be hugged. So fuck it, fuck whatever he's supposed to do in this situation so he doesn't look batshit insane and fuck whatever Miranda's going to be yelling at him for tomorrow. He reaches out to this kid to give the best hug he can muster and-

 

Shit. The kid's gone. Right, the video camera. Billy awkwardly shifts back to touch it again.

 

"Did you just...try to _hug_ me...?" Spencer asks incredulously. And then he chokes out a laugh. It sounds rough, like Spencer hasn't laughed in god knows how long. And maybe that's all Billy can do for him now: make him smile.

 

"Hey, kid, I'll have you know everything I do is smoooooth and purposeful," he drawls, haphazardly striking a pose while still holding the camera.

 

Spencer laughs, easier this time. "Hah, yeah right! I've seen you on TV - glad to know you're just as dopey in real life as on camera!"

 

 _Alright, dead kid, don't push your luck._ "That's a lie and you know it, bromigo," he raises his eyebrows, still frozen in a dramatic pose. God, if Miranda could see him now, limbs outstretched in the middle of the ruins of a burned down building, talking to no one and clutching a video camera. Thank god the press is gone. But there are bigger things to worry about.

 

"Hey...uh...Spencer," he mutters, dropping the pose and trying to look a little more serious. The kid looks at him questioningly. "What...what are you going to do?" Well, there goes the brief moment of lighthearted fun. Spencer has grabbed his arm with one hand while the other remains clenched in a fist. "I...I don't know. Everything...everything is gone."

 

Billy surveys the area. There is nothing for Spencer here except painful memories. His family is gone - guess they didn't stick around like Spencer. All he could do is curl up alone in what used to be his bed and pretend things were okay.

 

Billy Joe Cobra then came up with what was probably the worst idea of all time.

 

"Do you wanna just...come with me?"

Spencer looks at Billy, brow knitted in confusion. "Wait...you want me to come with you? Then what? I just follow you around until I...disappear or something...?" Spencer trails off, eyes looking to the ground.

 

"Well, Lil' Bro Peep, I figure it's gotta be a better deal than hanging out here alone. Unless you have someone you'd want to stay with? A closer relative...a friend...?" Billy can see as he's giving suggestions that Spencer's expression only seems to get more downtrodden. Damn. Didn't this kid have friends or family he was close to? Shit, what was Billy even thinking offering to take him in, he was hardly a suitable babysitter. Wait, would Spencer need a caretaker? What exactly would all of this entail? Ah, fuck it, he can think later when there isn't a sad kid in front of him that just lost everything.

 

"Hey," Billy mutters, stepping a little closer to Spencer which makes him stiffen a little. "We're family...right?"

 

Spencer hesitates for a moment and Billy is convinced he's going to refuse when he responds with, "Can you just...grab anything that's left from my house? I can't touch things."

 

"Sure thing, bromosapien," says Billy, and together they scrounge what's left of the house. There isn't much, and what is left isn't necessarily meaningful (like that can-opener Billy excitedly discovered while Spencer gave him the "Are-You-An-Idiot" look). They end up with a watch, a few nonfunctional karate movies in melted cases, a curling iron, and a wrench. Billy gives a mental applause in honor of metal for being so resilient. Speaking of applause, Billy thinks he most definitely deserves it for carrying all this stuff while keeping a firm grasp on the video camera. No-talented hack? Please.

 

If Billy's chauffer thinks there is anything particularly odd about him carrying back a pile of knick-knacks to the vehicle and opening the door for no one, he doesn't say anything. Typical.

 

"Hey, driver-man," Billy yells to the front seat, "You haven't been giving me any attention this _whole_ time so I trust you to keep disregarding everything I do or say...deal?"

 

"Smooth," says Spencer, raising his eyebrows patronizingly. Like Billy needed tips for being smooth from this... _maybe_ 15-year-old kid that is, to reiterate, _wearing a t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans._

 

"I don't need your sass, brotato," Billy mutters, earning a sideways glance from the driver but nothing more. Wonderful.

 

Time passes in a bit of an awkward silence as they drive through the suburbs and the hills back to the airport, Spencer looking out the window mournfully all the while. When the silence finally breaks, it isn't because of Billy.

 

"You know, I spent my whole life wanting to get out of this boring town and now I'm sad to see it go," Spencer sighs. Billy doesn't know what exactly to say to that because he's never had a problem getting anywhere he wanted to go.

 

"Well bro, we're going somewhere so exciting you'll forget about these lame 'burbs in no time!" Billy exclaims. "The Cobra Mansion, home of _yours truly_ , is just about the most un-boring place to be!"

 

Spencer offers a half-smile to that, but no other response. He just looks down at his transparent hand, and pushes it through the seat in front of him experimentally. Yep, no doubt about it, Spencer's hand couldn't touch it. Wait, Billy thought, then how is this bro sitting on the seat beside him? Why didn't he just phase through the car? Hell, why didn't he just phases through the _Earth's crust_ and float out into space? Hmm. A dilemma for another day.

 

"You'd think being a ghost would be cooler, huh," Spencer says speculatively, as he phases his arm in and out of the seat in front of him.

 

"What...?"

 

"I said, you'd think being a ghost would-"

 

"STOP THE CAR!" Billy screams and _fuckin wait just one moment here there's a goddamn GHOST next to him and-_

The driver slams on the brakes, pitching Billy against the seat in front of him because he's too reckless to wear a seatbelt. Spenc-THE GHOST makes an odd squawking noise and just shouts, "What the HELL, dude?"

 

Billy jumps out of the vehicle before it's completely stopped, dropping the video camera. He looks around him and JESUS why are all airports in the middle of nowhere there is no place to hide so he just tries to cram himself under the car when a strong arm grabs him by his jacket.

 

"Mr. Cobra, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to get out from under the car."

 

Oh, goddammit.

 

The driver essentially crams Billy into the backseat, handing Billy back the video camera with a slight twitch of the eyebrow and muttering to himself about crazy drug-addicts. "What the heck was that about?" Spencer asks incredulously.

 

"You're a _ghost_ ," Billy says emphatically. What more explanation did this bro need?

 

"Yes...I would think that was kind of clear, seeing as I am _dead_ and _transparent_ ," Spencer enunciated slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Billy isn't a child, dammit, and he would not be patronized but _oh jesus a ghost is glaring at him and-_

"Okay, why are you shoving your face into back of the front seat?" Spencer's voice seems to have a tinge of regret lining his question, as if maybe coming along wasn't the best idea after all.

 

"Ghosts...ghosts are scary," says Billy, his words muffled by the surface he slammed himself against in an effort to not look at the ghost. What you can't see can't hurt you, right? To his credit, he's brave enough to remain holding the camera.

 

"You're...afraid of ghosts," Spencer deadpans and Billy can just _feel_ Spencer's eyebrow raise even though he refuses to look at it.

 

"Yes," Billy replies meekly. He imagines if Miranda were here now she would be openly sobbing and screaming " _Heartthrobs can't be afraid of anything unless it's endearing!"_.

 

"Ugh, I knew coming along was a mistake," Spencer sighs heavily. Billy immediately feels kinda-absolutely- _like-shit_.

 

"Wait, Edgar Allen Bro-"

 

"It's Spencer."

 

"Spencer...I'm sorry, man. I know I just flipped my shit a little bit-" one of Spencer's eyebrows arches at the words 'little bit', "But...I can...get over it. Yeah. Totally. For...uh...your sake."

 

Spencer's expression softens a little bit.

 

"Thanks...brojangles."

 

"Hey, you're getting the hang of it, bromeo!"


	2. The Show

"This is your house?" Spencer exclaims in disbelief, eyes taking in the bright colors and eclectic designs of the entryway.

 

"Designed  by yours truly!" Billy points his thumb at his chest dramatically. You gotta do everything with some drama if you're a star. Even if no one is looking. "Here, I've got at least 5 extra bedrooms, we can put your stuff in one."

 

Billy saunters up the stairs and Spencer follows doing the same half-step-half-float maneuver as before. "Five extra bedrooms?" Spencer asks, "Why would you possibly need that many?"

 

"Some advice from one bro to another: if you have a party at your pad, and you hook up with a ladybro, you let her sleep in a bed that night. Not a couch, not the floor. A bed. It's part of being a great host."

 

"So...you have... _five_ of these extra beds? What...what kind of parties happen here...?" Spencer trails off, possibly realizing the weight of what he's gotten himself into. Billy prefers to think of it as a great opportunity. Who wouldn't want to party with the Cobra? The kind of people you don't want at a party, that's who.

 

"I have other bedrooms that are a little bigger, but they involve an elevator ride," Billy mentions. "I guess pushing buttons is outta the question. You need a room you can get to when I'm not around, dude. Unless...I mean, you can go through things, can you fly?"

 

"I can kinda...float. Sometimes. If I'm not thinking about it," Spencer supplies. Billy guesses that Spencer's pretty new at this whole ghost-thing ( _don't think about it_ ) so maybe he's figuring things out just like Billy.

 

Billy opens the door to the extra bedroom Spencer will be staying in. It's a pretty sweet room, at least in Billy's opinion - a little sparse, like any bedroom that isn't lived in, but it's pretty sizable and of course decorated _Cobrastyle_. Maybe bright colors and oddly-shaped furniture aren't Spencer's thing but the kid could use exposure to good taste. Billy wordlessly puts the stuff they've brought back from Spencer's house on a wall shelf, hoping that works. He's a little lost on what to do with the video camera, though.

 

"It's...gonna be real hard to carry this around all the time, brommando," Billy admits, feeling guilty.

 

Spencer glances sideways, stepping past Billy into the room and sitting on the bed in a way that seems to be a little _too_ nonchalant. "Eh, it's cool, dude. I don't need company all of the time."

 

It still hasn't been long since Spencer died and Billy isn't about to do a completely shit job of making him comfortable here, so he tries to strike up a conversation. "So, uh, I wonder what makes this camera so great at seeing you? Did you buy it from some shady fortune teller in a back alley?"

 

"There aren't back alleys in suburbia," Spencer smirks. "And for your information, no, I got it as a gift. My parents knew I wanted to make movies so they bought me something to get started."

 

Spencer looks wistful, but Billy can see he's right on the edge of breaking down. Billy knows because he's been there too, but in circumstances that involved more drug use. Time to steer the subject away from Spencer's family.

 

"Right, movies, what kind of movies did you wanna make, George Bromero?"

 

Spencer's back to smiling and Billy is just _the man._ "Horror movies! God, I just love the feel of a great scary movie. Zombie flicks are the single best thing the human race has ever come up with."

 

Horror movies...right. Billy just _loves_ horror movies, if you subscribe to the definition of love being something that makes you want to punch yourself in the face, sit hunched over in a dark corner, and never leave your house again. Which, you know, some people do use that definition. But hey, even singers have to know how to act, so Billy can feign excitement easily enough to get Spencer talking wildly about all of the best horror movies and his great movie ideas. It's honestly a little endearing to hear the kid so passionate about something, when he's been understandably reserved since Billy met him. And in the middle of this nice little moment comes the screeching yell of-

 

"MR. COHEN! I need to speak with you!"

 

-Miranda. She has access to his surround-sound speaker system and isn't afraid to override any volume controls. Spencer halts his spiel and raises an eyebrow questioningly. "My agent-slash-manager-slash- publicist, Miranda," Billy answers with a sigh. Look, he loved the gal. Sometimes. She made his life a lot easier and he never had to know what was actually going on with his shows, interviews, public appearances, or press releases. She was truly a gift. But because she was in charge of Billy's image...she had to regulate that image.

  
"Awww shit, gotta go lil' dude," Billy says. "Sorry," he mutters as he puts the video camera down and the kid disappears into thin air.

 

Miranda's waiting in the living room, sitting in a plush chair with her legs crossed, impeccable makeup, and a frown. Damn. Billy didn't like the looks of this.

 

"Billy, what's this I hear about an 'outburst' on the site of the house fire I had you visit?"

 

"Uhh," Billy supplied unhelpfully. How to explain this one off? The press might buy some bullshit excuse, but would Miranda? Damn, he should've thought about this on the plane ride instead of falling asleep comfortably in first-class. Oh man, what had Spencer been doing while he was asleep? Did he just sit there with nothing to do and no one to talk to? Jesus, Billy, your mind is wandering again you really do need to get some drugs back in your system to _chill_ -

 

That's it!

 

"Drugs!" Billy spits out.

 

"Drugs," Miranda repeats, unamused. "And what gave you the brilliant idea of doing that before a public appearance? God, Billy, what was it?  Please tell me it was just marijuana or LSD. If it was cocaine or heroin again, I'm going to have to do something about it-"

 

"Relax, babe-"

 

"I'm not your babe." Miranda's gaze is unflinching.

 

"Yeah, uh, sorry. No crack brocaine for me. It was LSD. Yeah. A nice good trip, you know how it goes." Her expression never wavers from pure frustration.

 

"No I don't know _how it goes_ Mr. Cohen, and if I catch you abusing drugs before a public appearance again, I'll give you even less autonomy than you have now. I don't give a shit what you do in private but when you threaten your image, you threaten my job."

 

Silence. Billy knows when to shut the fuck up.

 

"Your official comment is that you were 'emotionally overcome'. Don't let this happen again, especially during events where it's less obvious how to cover your ass."

 

Billy nods wordlessly, and Miranda leaves in a huff. Great, now she'll be riding his ass about drug use. You're welcome, Spencer.

 

Spencer. He hopes the kid isn't too upset he left him, but really, he couldn't just carry that video camera around all of the time! Which does cause a dilemma. What exactly is Billy going to do with Spencer? He walks back up the stairs and rides the elevator back to the bedroom, saying, "Sorry about that Brochacho," as he picks up the video camera and his eyes meet the annoyed glare of a dead teenager.

 

"What's your deal just cutting out like that, _Mr. Cohen_?"

 

"Look, dude, trust me - that wasn't a conversation you wanted to be a part of. I mean, you know, as much of a part of it as you can when-"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't try too hard."

 

Gettin' real tired of your shit, kid.

 

"Hey, so, tell me about some of this stuff we got from your house," Billy comments, holding up the watch in his free hand for inspection.

 

"Well that was a present from my Dad. A 'You're-Finally-An-Adult' present when I turned eighteen."

 

Damn does Billy's jaw just _actually_ hit the floor because it sure feels like it.

 

"You're _eighteen_?" Billy asks disbelievingly. He had Spencer pegged for like, sixteen at the oldest. No way in hell is this kid actually an _adult_.

 

"Yeah...is that, uh...hard to believe or something?"

 

"Yes!" Billy exclaims, arms outstretched, gesturing towards Spencer. "Look at you!"

 

God is Spencer _pouting_ now? Adults didn't pout. Billy knew for a fact he _never_ pouted. Well, he probably never had. Maybe.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spencer asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed.

 

"Well...you're just...kinda tiny!

 

"Tiny?" Spencer squeaks, like the kid actually raises his pitch at the end like he's going through puberty all over again.How the hell can he be eighteen?

 

"Yep," Billy says in a mocking tone, "A tiny lil' lawn brome!"

 

"Ugh, I am totally an adult! And not tiny!"

 

Billy pauses and thinks for a moment. "Wait, does this mean I can take you to my parties and not feel like I'm stealing your innocence?"

 

"Stealing my _innocence_?" Spencer squeaks again and Billy decides it's pretty adorable.

 

"What, you kinda have that innocent aura, broseidon," Billy says. "Unless you're tryin' to tell me you aren't innocent?" he asks, raises his eyebrows.

 

"Um."

 

"That's what I thought. Welp, if you're a legal adult that means no reservations! You're gonna learn to party hard from THE Billy Joe Cobra! Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll, they say-"

 

"No thanks. Not really my scene. Which isn't even considering the fact that I'm _dead._ "

 

"Well, fine!" Billy pouts (okay maybe he _did_ occasionally pout), dropping the camera on the soft cushion of the bed, intending to cut off Spencer. Both are silent for a while, Spencer thinking he's lost Billy and Billy slowly realizing that Spencer isn't disappearing.

 

"I can...still see you...?" Billy wonders aloud, looking to the camera on the bed that he definitely isn't touching.

 

Spencer's brow furrows for a moment, then his eyes light up. "The watch!" he shouts. Billy looks down and realizes he still has the watch in question in his hand. Huh. He'd kinda forgotten he was still holding it...

 

Wait.

 

"Does this mean I can use this to see you, too?" Billy asks, already knowing the answer. This is great! Watches are much easier to carry around than cameras.

 

"You can wear it!" Spencer exclaims excitedly. "You can just keep it with you, and then you can always see me! I won't have to be alo-" Spencer catches himself and stops mid-word.

 

"But yeah, it'll be great!" Spencer says hurriedly.

 

Billly smiles and tries to fasten the watch on his wrist but it's too tight so he has to loosen a few links. He looks to Spencer with a coy look as he makes it big enough to fit around his wrist and Spencer pouts again. Boom. Point for Billy Joe Cobra.

 

* * *

 

"So, brorito, excited to see THE Billy Joe Cobra live in concert tonight?" Billy shouts as he makes his entrance to the living room where Spencer is absentmindedly watching the television Billy left on. He was decked out in full concert attire - a jacket lined with fur that others may have called gaudy, a matching top hat, and a certain watch.

 

"Uh, yeah," Spencer says noncommittally.

 

"Come on, bro, I promise it's gonna be so exciting - plus, you get to see it for free and come backstage afterwards since you got the hook-up with yours truly."

 

"I'd be able to see it for free and go backstage without you. I'm a ghost, remember? Everything is free as long as it doesn't involve physical contact."

 

God, Spencer was such a smart-ass. Not that Billy would admit it, but it was kind of refreshing. Look, he wouldn't trade his adoring fans for anything, but it was nice to have someone that wouldn't navigate a conversation with him like someone would navigate glass room after a bad earthquake.

 

"Look, Browen Wilson, you gotta admit, it would be at least six times more sick to watch my show than reality TV."

 

"Yeah, why can't you leave the TV on good channels?" Spencer sighs, leaning back into the plush chair. Billy still hasn't worked out how Spencer can sit on things but not hold things. Maybe the kid doesn't realize he's doing it? Well, Billy's not going to say anything about it.

 

"You are changing the subject away from me, a crime that is unforgivable," Billy says melodramatically.

 

"Are you gonna arrest me?" Spencer says, but with a little smile. A smile that to Billy said, " _Billy you are perfect of course I'm going to come to your show tonight, who would miss an opportunity like this?"_.

 

"Go on, Broquito, check out my set list!" Billy holds out a sheet of paper for Spencer to inspect. All he's gotta know how to do tonight is play these songs, and he doesn't even have to remember the order. Thanks, Miranda!

 

Spencer looks over the list. "I Am The Sunshine of My Life? You Love Me, I Love Me More? Dang, I knew you had an ego, dude, but I never knew how big."

 

"Thank you," Billy says. It's a compliment, right?

 

"What's this one?" Spencer asks, pointing to one. "'The Song'?"

 

'The Song," Billy repeats, almost solemnly. "It's a song of great power. Anyone who hears it falls in love with whoever is singing it."

 

"What? That's crazy! I'm not buying that."

 

"Well I'm not going to show you! If you fell in love with me right now," Spencer's expression turns odd at that, "we wouldn't have enough time to reverse it before the show! Besides, since you're _definitely_ coming to my show tonight, you'll see everyone throwing themselves onto the stage after the song anyway! Hell, you might even fall in love with me _tonight_!"

 

Billy winks. Spencer raises an eyebrow and gives him a withering look.

 

"A song that can make anyone fall in love with you, huh," Spencer mutters to himself. "Seems like it could be used for some nefarious purposes.

 

Billy's a little confused. "What?"

 

"Do you sing it to girls at your parties?" Spencer asks, maybe a little accusingly and _was this lil bro implying-_

"No! That's sick, dude! And not in the cool way. Look, I don't even _like_ to play The Song, but Miranda insists I play it at my shows. For the 'advancement of my career' or some other bullshit."

 

Spencer raises his eyebrows. How hard was it to convince this dude?

 

"Look, whatever. People love me anyway, I don't need a special song," Billy says, running a hand through his hair in a way he knew was attractive because he watched himself do it in the mirror about ten times this morning.

 

"Is that what's at the heart of this?" Spencer laughs. "You don't like to play it because you have _self-esteem issues_?"

 

No way in hell were they talking about this. "Watch it, Broseph Stalin, I'll put the security guards on ghost duty. Or...something." Fuck.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says with a triumphant look on his face.

 

* * *

 

Damn, the opening band before Billy really sucks ass. He'll have to talk to Miranda about getting people with _style_ to open for him. Billy's sitting in the wings as stage hands set up for him, impatient to perform. He lives for this kind of thing. Sure, partying and living the life of the rich and famous is glamorous and wild, but Billy always loves that rush of performing for people that adore him.

 

Billy knows Spencer is out there somewhere, even though he played like he didn't want to come to the show. He followed Billy through all the steps of stage prep curiously. Billy thinks that maybe setting up for a performance was a bit like setting up for a movie shoot, in a way.

 

Finally the stage prep is done. The lights dim. Billy's stage awaits. It's time to face his fans.

 

His fans, plus one dead bromigo.

 

"Alright, my _adoring_ fans, I'll be opening tonight with one of your favorites: 'You Love Me, I Love Me More!"

 

* * *

 

"So what'd you think, Abroham Lincoln?" Billy asks Spencer, throwin' up some double pistols and a wink as Spencer walks in the sizable yet sparse room backstage. Billy had instructed Spencer on how to get backstage when the show was over since he wouldn't have any problems with security guards.

 

"Eh, it was enjoyable, I guess," Spencer says with a sideways glance. "I guess you are, uh, pretty talented."

 

Billy smiles smugly. From Spencer that's probably the highest compliment he's gonna get.

 

"I can't believe 'The Song' worked on those people. I thought you were going to get attacked, and you probably would've if it hadn't been for that security team being there on the spot."

 

"Yeah," Billy shrugs, "They're always on the lookout after 'The Song'. So did you fall in love with me?" Billy flutters his eyelashes.

 

"Not a chance in hell, sorry," Spencer laughs. "Maybe it's one of my 'ghost powers': the ability to not be attracted to Billy Joe Cobra."

 

"The power does not exist," Billy says flatly. What? It doesn't. And okay, maybe dead people got a pass on the power of 'The Song', but he'd still proven his point.

 

"Well, any second now some of my favorite fans will be here to join us. I'd say that I'd show you how to party, but really it's just chill as fuck. Not really a party at all."

 

Spencer makes a face at the phrase "favorite fans" but otherwise doesn't respond.

 

"Look," Billy says, "I know it's not your scene. And that you're dead so you can't really do anything. But maybe being here will make things a little less boring for you." Spencer smiles just a little, maybe a little nervously. Why so nervous, bro?

 

Okay, Billy's mature moment of the evening has passed. Fuck that shit.

 

Next thing he knows Billy's high as fuck and man aren't water bongs just the _shit_? Makes the whole experience so much more pleasurable dude and whatever that nice ladybro is doing with her fingers on the nape of his neck is just _perfect._ The lights are dim and the music is pumping so loud in Billy's ears he wishes he'd dropped some acid so he could see the sounds. There's a kid standing in front of him arms crossed and why can he see right through him? Right, right, it's Spencer, who gotta be just lovin' this. Well, I mean, actually...is it fun to watch people get high? Billy doesn't know because he's always joined in. Getting high is fun though so maybe Spencer's having fun too and time passes nice and slow, not so fast you can't just concentrate on each moment and give it the focus it deserves—


	3. The Movie Marathon

"Why are you policing my behavior, Brodysseus? I've already got Miranda on my back and _fuck_ it was just weed! That shit is practically harmless!"

 

It's the day after Billy's concert and he has just woken up to what seems to be a _lecture_ from a dead kid sitting next to his bed. How did Spencer even get up here? Billy guesses sometime last night Spencer followed him up the elevator. All Billy wants to do is nurse his headache and eat some goddamn frosted mini-wheats. Maybe dip them in peanut butter, fuck, that'd be good-

 

"I'm not telling you what to do, I don't _care_ what you do, I'm just saying it makes me feel uncomfortable," says Spencer, exasperated.

 

"Why does what I do matter to you?"

 

"I guess...it's not the fact that you're doing it. You're famous, of course you get high and God knows what else, I just...I feel weird just watching it. Since I don't know what it's like, really. And the, uh, other stuff that happened..."

 

"Other stuff?" Billy questions with a raised eyebrow, lifting himself from the bed and resting his weight on his elbows. Then he finally notices Spencer is blushing so furiously he's not sure how he didn't see it earlier. "What...the handy?"

 

Damn, how was it possible for Spencer to turn a darker shade of red? Billy chuckles a little. "I didn't realize you were such a prude! It's not a big deal."

 

Spencer looks to the side shyly and Billy _can't believe it could it possibly be that_ -

 

"Have you never gotten a handjob, bromeo?"

 

Spencer sputters a little, incredibly flustered. "W-wha...? I, uh, that's a personal thing!"

 

"Oh my God, you totally haven't!" Billy scoots closer to Spencer, kind of amazed honestly because didn't Spencer say he was _eighteen_? Billy had been getting handjobs (and more) for what seemed like ages and he isn't that much older than Spencer. "Wait..." Billy squints his eyes, looking at Spencer who has taken to covering his face with one hand. "Have you ever even been kissed?"

 

Spencer backs away and keeps half of his face covered as he mumbles reluctantly, "...No."

 

"Holy shit!" Billy exclaims, a mixture of disbelief, horror, and amazement. Spencer wasn't exactly Casabrova material, but surely he could've snagged a kiss sometime in high school!

 

"Look, I get it, it's awful and really embarrassing and can you stop looking so personally offended that I'm so lame that I actually died without ever being kissed-"

 

"Bromigo!" Billy interrupts. "I just feel for you! That's so righteously unfair, and I'd totally kiss you if I could to make up for it!"

 

"...What?" Spencer asks, giving Billy the most unamused look he's received from anyone besides Miranda. That's when Billy realizes what he's just said and backtracks a little.

 

"I mean, like, just helpin' a bro out. I'm a pretty great kisser and the most attractive person in the world to boot. If it were possible I would avenge your kiss-less teen years. There's enough of The Cobra to go around."

 

"God, you are so full of yourself," Spencer mutters and Billy smiles widely. "Plus, I'm a dude," Spencer says with a chuckle, "From what I saw last night you're pretty exclusively into women, so no sense in you making that sacrifice."

 

"Welp, that's Hollywood for you, Scarlett Brohansson," Billy says and Spencer responds with a confused look. Billy continues, "Look, the way things work around here these days, getting pap'd with a ladybro at a party is nothing compared to a dudebro. It'd be a PR nightmare for Miranda, so that's a no-go."

 

"Oh," Spencer mutters, looking sort of guilty all of a sudden. Well that's what you get for assuming, lil' dude.

 

"Hey though," Billy says, deciding that maybe being serious is okay sometimes. "You don't...have to come. Or whatever. I just felt bad leaving you behind."

 

"Thanks," says Spencer, smiling a little. "You know, maybe watching you make a fool out of yourself could be more fun than reality television."

 

What a shit-eating grin Spencer has on his face, damn. "Make a fool outta myself? Please, what you witnessed was _major game_ , Brodin."

 

Spencer raises an eyebrow, still sporting a grin.  "Really? You telling that girl she was 'almost as good as peanut butter' was an example of _major game_?" Spencer laughs. "I've never seen someone go from sheer admiration to righteous offense so quickly!"

 

Guess things are smooth again. Billy smiles, too. "Okay, okay, so maybe that wasn't the best compliment I've ever given. But real talk, Spence, you know in your heart that if things were the other way around I'd be the best romancin'-ghost-coach of all time. You'd have the ladies all over you!"

 

* * *

 

"Billy! Billy, I _did_ it!"

 

Billy's just lounging on one of the couches in his first floor living room when Spencer run-floats down the stairs with a twinkle in his eye that _really_ shouldn't have been there if you think about it, since ghosts were transparent. He's grinning ear to ear and practically vibrating with excitement.

 

"Did what, Teddy Brosevelt?"

 

"I...I touched something," Spencer says with awe. Billy's not sure what he's getting at because technically Spencer's been touching the floor, bed and couches for over a month now.

 

"I was...well, I was thinking about making movies and without really realizing it I had grabbed by video camera in my hand just like I always used to. Once I noticed what I was doing I dropped it, but I _swear_ I was actually touching it! I picked it up!" Spencer's so wide-eyed and Bambi-like that Billy can't help but be swept up a little by how cute it is.

 

"Wait, so you can pick things up now? Move things around?"

 

"Maybe," Spencer says, and deflates a little. "I-I'm not so sure I can do it again."

 

"Here," Billy says, getting up from the couch and walking over to Spencer. He holds out his hand with his palm open towards Spencer. "Push against my hand, Lil' Bro Peep."

 

Spencer's eyebrows knit together in concentration as he slowly holds his hand up to Billy's. He inches closer and closer...but his hand goes right through Billy's hand without resistance. Spencer sighs and drops his arm.

 

"Try again, bro," Billy says, trying to be encouraging. Maybe he doesn't believe that Spencer can actually move things in the physical world but damned if he was going to show that to little Bambi. Bambro? Nah, that was lame. Not sayin' that one aloud.

 

Spencer gets the same determined look on his face and slowly goes for Billy's palm. This time, right before Spencer can touch Billy, he quickly moves his hand away.

 

"Hey, what's the big idea, dude?!" Spencer shouts, upset.

 

Billy grins. "Just try to catch me!" Spencer huffs and exasperatedly tries to hit Billy's hand. Billy's taller than Spencer and just a little quicker, so it's only until a few minutes have passed that Spencer's hand meets Billy's with an audible slap.

 

"W-What...?" Spencer says, looking at his hand. "You heard that, right? Did-Did I touch you? It felt like I touched you!"

 

"You sure did!" Billy says with pride. "You just have to not think about it! That's pretty much how I get through everything I do - not thinking about it!" And the more Billy thinks about _that_ the more he realizes that makes him sound stupid but whatever it doesn't really matter when Spencer is just standing there, mouth open in a smile and looking like he was one of Billy's fans that Billy had just invited to one of his infamous house parties.

 

"Billy...you're a genius! Okay, God, I can't believe I actually said that. But I think you're right! I just have to...forget I'm a ghost sometimes, I guess!"

 

It turns out that actually doing it is altogether a very different beast, and Billy hates to admit that it's kind of funny to watch Spencer try to nonchalantly hit objects and run into things. Spencer's getting frustrated, Billy can tell, so eventually he steps in.

 

"Hey, let's try something else, Brony Hawk. You know how you kinda float sometimes? Maybe you can fly! Isn't that a g-ghost thing?" Spencer looks smug as hell when Billy trips over the word ghost, but then looks thoughtful.

 

"Maybe? It'd make sense, I guess. Here...let me just...imagine flying..." With that, Spencer closes his eyes, at first wrinkling his forehead in concentration. But soon his expression relaxes, and Billy watches as Spencer slowly rises from the floor, picking up speed gradually until he's almost to the ceiling and Billy shouts, "Spencer!"

 

Spencer open's his eyes suddenly,  and he momentarily freaks out once he realizes how high up he is and waves his arms, then manages to steady himself. "Wow, I'm...I'm actually flying!" Spencer breathes.

 

"Damn right you are, albrotross!" Billy shouts up at Spencer. "Now come down and give The Cobra a high five!"

 

Spencer smiles widely, then his expression drops. "Wait...uh...how do I get down?"

 

Billy's at a loss. "Uh...fuck...maybe imagine you're a meteor crashing down to Earth?"

 

That's a mistake. Next thing Billy knows Spencer is crashing into his floor and _actually putting a sizeable dent in the floor fuck-_

 

Spencer's a mess of limbs on the ground but otherwise unhurt. Add that to the list of potentially important questions: can ghosts even get hurt? Spencer says sheepishly as Billy looks on wide-eyed and silent, "Well, I guess there's more to being a ghost than we thought..."

 

* * *

 

Billy and Spencer are just chillin' in the living room (both absentmindedly watching television while Spencer tries to poke the arm of the sofa) when Miranda comes in the entryway of Billy's house.

 

"Mr. Cohen, there's a few things I'd like to discuss with yo- what the _hell_?"

 

Whoops. Billy still hasn't done anything about the practical crater Spencer made in his floor this morning. "Uh...it was an accident...?" He smiles sheepishly at Miranda who just rolls her eyes.

 

"I don't want to know, Billy. Don't try to come up with a fake explanation. First, I wanted to run some more dates by you for press appearances and general ass-kissing. As you know, the Grammys are coming up soon and as much as you like to believe it's just a popularity contest and you're a shoo-in for best solo artist, it's really all just politics and you're going to have to suck up a lot more to the recording academy winners if we want you to win."

 

Billy kind of zones out a little. This really isn't his thing; he honestly couldn't care less about winning awards as long as his fans still love him. So he lets Miranda talk to him about all the various shit she's going to have him doing that he'll have to endure all while sporting his legendary charisma and enthusiasm.

 

"...And one more thing," Miranda says, pausing hesitantly. Her eyes flick to Billy's wrist and her lips twist into a slight snarl. That, or she smelled something weird - equally probable. Billy wasn't spectacular at the whole cleaning for himself thing, and the maid wasn't scheduled to come in today. "People are starting to say things about that watch you've been wearing constantly for a few weeks now. They're saying it was a gift from...someone special, maybe?"

 

She glares at him. Billy doesn't really know how to respond, so he doesn't say much of anything but he does notice Spencer turning around from watching TV to listen more intently to their conversation.

 

"Mr. Cohen...I'm your manager, your publicist, and your agent all wrapped into one. It's absolutely imperative that you tell me if you have a romantic connection in your life. Otherwise, how will I keep it from the press? You're not exactly qualified to keep anything from the public eye."

 

Her eyes are narrowing and Spencer is tensing a little beside him, but Billy really doesn't see the big deal. "Relax, Miranda, it's not a gift from some special lady I've been romancing on the side. I...uh...found it at my distant relative's house that you had me visit. Maybe it was wrong to take it, but...I guess I just felt oddly sentimental. Or maybe it was the LSD...?"

 

Miranda is still looking at him suspiciously but is considerably less tense. "Well, if you say so, Mr. Cohen. We'll just respond it's a family heirloom or something. No, that won't work, the watch isn't nearly old enough. Well, until I come up with something better we'll rest it as something you picked up on a whim. It's not hard for people to believe you do odd things on impulse from time to time."

 

That sounds kind of like an insult, but Billy's tired enough of all of the PR shit that he lets it pass so they don't have to talk about it anymore. Miranda departs, leaving Billy and Spencer alone in the living room again.

 

"She's kinda whack, yo," Spencer mutters.

 

"Hey, someone has to look out for every aspect of my life. Not like I can do that," Billy shrugs.

 

Spencer snorts. "I guess taking care of you would make anyone crazy. Still, wasn't it weird how much she freaked out over my watch?"

 

Billy thinks for a moment. "You're being paranoid, Broseph McCarthy, all Miranda cares about is managing me and making sure I don't royally fuck up all of the time." Spencer doesn't look convinced, but he turns away from Billy and tries to poke the arm of the couch again.

 

This is no good. Look, Billy's not going to actually admit it out loud, but he's really gotten attached to the little guy after all their time together. It feels nice to have someone else in this giant mansion, even if they aren't always interacting and even if Spencer's actually just a ghost. Billy's pretty much assumed most of his life that he's incapable of caring about someone besides himself, but maybe that's not as true as he thinks. He hasn't had a friend in a long time, just fans. It might be nice.

 

"Hey, I figured we'd just wait until it gets dark out, but why don't we just do this now?" Billy grabs the remote from the end table, holding it in the direction of Spencer. "Let's celebrate the fact you can touch things by having a horror movie marathon!" and _oh fuck Billy is dying on the inside just thinking about scary movies but Spencer is smiling so maybe it'll be okay._

"That sounds sweet!" Spencer smiles widely. "Go ahead, see what's on TV. Or we can search through that practical library of DVDs you have..."

 

"Not so fast," Billy gestures at the remote. "You'll be in control this time. I'll hold the remote, you push the buttons."

 

Spencer looks nervous, which is actually ridiculous because this isn't a big deal, but its endearing anyway. "I dunno, Billy, I don't know if I can..."

 

"Just try it!" Billy encourages. "Look, if you're really having trouble I'll take over. But I know you can do it, Hulk Brogan!"

 

Spencer reaches for the remote hesitantly, but before he can touch it Billy suddenly pulls away and says "Wait a sec!" before running to the elevator. Spencer is probably sulking, but the elevator doors are closing so Billy can't say for sure.

 

He returns to find Spencer sitting on the couch arms crossed. "What was that about, dude?"

 

Billy holds up a blanket he retrieved from his room. "It's cold in here."

 

Spencer shakes his head. "Now I _know_ that's a lie; you were complaining earlier today about how 'this damn AC ain't worth a shit'."

                                                                                                                                                                                 

Fuck. Spencer's too observant sometimes. Oh well, he'd be figuring things out as soon as the movie started so Billy might as well put it out there now. "I'm...uh...afraid of scary movies."

 

Spencer's silent for a moment then suddenly laughs loudly. "Could you imagine if all of your adoring fans witnessed this? They think you're some kind of sex god and you just went upstairs to _get a blankie_ because you're _scared of a movie_!"

 

Billy pouts. Deriving feelings of safety and comfort from a blanket is completely legitimate.

 

"Oh, stop looking at me like that. Come on, sit down, this just got way more fun!" Spencer pats the air above the cushion next to him. Billy is miffed, but he's already committed at this point. Spencer might be laughing at Billy's expense but at least he was laughing at all, right?

 

"Ugh, fuck this," Billy mumbles as he sits down, rolls up the blanket, and holds it to his chest.

 

"Awwww, how cute!" Spencer teases in a babying voice.

 

"You wanna go, Brohammad Ali?" Billy jokes, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Careful, Billy. As we found out today I have the incredible power to sometimes crash violently into things. You don't wanna mess with me," Spencer smirks.

 

"Well, you're tiny enough it wouldn't cause much damage," Billy quips, reaching for the remote and holding it in Spencer's direction.

 

"I'm gonna ignore that," Spencer mutters, reaching towards the remote like it's some kind of wild animal. Like...a venomous snake. A cobra. Oh god Billy is just _so fucking hilarious_ -

 

Suddenly the TV turns on with a pop and Spencer yells victoriously, jumping from the couch. Billy smiles. Maybe a marathon of made-for-TV zombie movies will be worth it.

 

* * *

 

After god knows how long, Billy is awakened by the sound of Spencer's voice and suddenly realizes he fell asleep during one of the many B-movie zombie flicks.  It's just credits now and Billy is about to fetch the remote so Spencer can press the button to turn it off when he blearily realizes Spencer's expecting a response to whatever he said.

 

"Wha...?" Billy groans, groggily. Spencer looks at Billy then looks back at the TV which is still lazily rolling credits. But Spencer isn't _really_ looking at the TV, it almost seems like he's looking right through it, somewhere far off in the distance.

 

"I said, do you ever wonder why you're here?"

 

Billy's silent for a moment. "Not really, Jean Jacques Brousseau. I knew I wanted this pretty much my whole life, and I knew I was kick-ass enough to make it happen."

 

Spencer chuckles. "I'm kinda jealous you're so sure about everything. I just keep wondering...why me? Why am I the one who is still here? What about my parents, my sister? Where are they, and why can't I be with them?"

 

Billy looks to see if Spencer is crying but he's not. His face is stoic against the flickering light from the television. For the first time, Billy thinks he looks less like a kid and more like an adult. "Maybe...it's okay not to know why?" Billy says through a yawn.

 

"I wish I could sleep like you're able to," Spencer spits out on impulse, then looks away. Billy feels really bad about all this, but he's not sure what he can do about it. So he does what he thinks would be right in a more normal situation, and gives Spencer a hug. It's really just Billy arranging his limbs in a hugging position because he can't actually touch Spencer. He sits there awkwardly, arms encircling air with nothing to support them. Spencer's looking at him wide-eyed and sad and all Billy wants is to be able to actually touch him and tell him that it's okay. _It's alright, bro, you have me._ But even if they can't touch Spencer gives him a half smile and a muttered 'thank-you' and they stay like that until Billy can't stay awake any longer, arms falling and passing out on the couch.


	4. The Fix

"Come on, Jennifer Bropez! Sing!"

 

Billy and Spencer are hanging out in the recording room. Previously Spencer had been just listening to Billy and watching him play, but Billy was convinced Spencer should join in.  Spencer had protested that he didn't know how to play an instrument well enough and even if he did he wouldn't be able to; just because he could sometimes touch things now that didn't mean he could do something that complicated.

 

So Billy had a great idea.

 

"No, no way! You are, like, an actual singer! I'm not singing in front of you. Nope," Spencer protests, hands up in the air almost defensively.

 

"Aww, please?" Billy pouts. "Just give it a shot! I'll play, you sing - we can do something together!"

 

Spencer looks skeptical. Billy imagines he's a little kitten standing on the edge of a bathtub full of water, debating the merits of jumping in out of curiosity.

 

"Hey," Billy says slyly, "I bet you know the lyrics to my songs."

 

Spencer turns a little red. "Just because I go to your concerts doesn't mean I know all of your lyrics," he grumbles, but Billy knows he's caught him.

 

"Come on, I know you secretly love my music even if you won't admit it."

 

Spencer coughs. "Fine. Whatever. I'll sing _one_."

 

Billy strums out a few chords on his guitar. "Recognize that one? I bet you do! You are such a biiiig fan, right?"

 

"Don't push your luck, toolkit," Spencer mumbles. "Yeah, okay, _sure._ I do know the song. It's _Bromazing_. Can we just get this over with?"

 

Bill smiles smugly, playing the intro.

 

"I'm lookin' at the bro in the mirror," Spencer sings softly, almost under his breath. Billy stops strumming the guitar.

 

"What was that? Come on! You can't sing _Bromazing_ without confidence! That's, like, the whole point of the song! Belt it out! Believe you are bromazing!"

 

Spencer's starting to blush in embarrassment. "Okay, okay, I'll try. I just...I'm not a singer okay? Don't...make fun of me."

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, bromigo," Billy says before playing the intro again.

 

"I'm looking at the bro in the mirror," Spencer practically screams (only _slightly_ off key), "I'm tellin' him not to change a thing!"

 

Billy can't keep playing through his laughter and has to stop there. Spencer looks incredibly admonished and miffed. "You said you wouldn't make fun of me!"

 

"No, bro," Billy says, wiping a tear from his eye, "It's not like that. It's just...you were _screaming_ it and wow you must've felt _really bromazing_."

 

Spencer groans. Billy walks over to him and pretends to pat him on the back. "There, there, lil bro. It really wasn't half bad. You aren't a bad singer! You're just in the room with the best singer the world has ever heard."

 

Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your voice is a gift straight from the heavens. But hey...you think maybe...we can actually play some more? Maybe even other songs? It might be kinda fun to do something together that helps me forget I'm a ghost," Spencer asks hesitantly. Billy smiles.

 

"You bet, Bro Rida! Let's jam!"

 

* * *

 

"Ugh, I seriously have no idea how you roped me into going to yet another photoshoot. I hope it's not like that last one I followed you to. It was like...what, Y-3 or something? So whack. I can't believe people get paid to lean against a table awkwardly in ugly clothes with the most bored expression they can muster."

 

Spencer is sitting next to Billy in the backseat of the car on the way to Billy's next 'photoshoot'. Billy's doing his best to remain convincing, but he's never been great at keeping secrets or lying. Well, he's gotta at least _try_ now.

 

"Right. Look, not even I am going to defend that," Billy throws up his hands in defeat. "Those clothes were shitty. But their money isn't so shitty, now is it?"

 

"As if you need it," Spencer sticks his tongue out, like _are you fucking serious?_ The speed at which Spencer can change demeanor from 'young-potentially-responsible-adult' to 'little-teenage-shit' is enough to give Billy mental whiplash.

 

"Though," Spencer puts a hand on his chin thoughtfully, "Maybe you'll end up like one of those stars that burns out quickly. People stop caring, and you've spent so much of the millions you've amassed that you actually have to struggle to get by. It's a possibility." Spencer grins mischievously.

 

Billy shivers. "You're giving me the creeps, Edgar Allen Bro.  No way is it possible that people stop loving me. I'll die before that happens." Spencer looks kinda odd at that statement. Did it matter to Spence? Oh, wait, that's probably just Spencer getting upset because Billy is _such a dumbass -_ bringing up death in front of a recently dead kid. Even when he's trying to do something nice he fucks it up. Billy really isn't cut out for this considering-others-feelings thing, but damned if he isn't at least gonna try. He looks back to Spencer but the kid looks fine. Maybe he's just blowing this out of proportion. Nerves. Why is he nervous? Why does he keep _thinking so much_ -

 

Spencer cuts off his thoughts. "Look, dude, don't think about it too hard. I was joking. I'm sure you'll be set for life. Besides, even if you're old and gross you'll still have 'The Song', right?"

 

Billy sighs. "I'm more than that one song. When I'm old people will still love all of my great songs about girls and sunshine and big yachts and money, and I'll still _have_ all of those things. No way is this star burning out!" Billy practically yells the last part, catching the attention of his driver.

 

"I wonder how much Miranda pays your drivers to shut up about how insane you must seem," Spencer ponders, a joking edge to his voice.

 

Billy grunts, crossing his arms, but offers no other comment. For a little while there is silence.

 

"Hey, you said we were going to a photoshoot or something, right?" Spencer asks, peering out the window. "Is it like...an outdoor shoot or something? Why exactly are we headed to the middle of nowhere?"

 

"That's a question for Miranda, not me," Billy shrugs. Lying, right, he's completely flawless at it. Excellent form, Billy Joe Cobra. Actually, Spencer's raising one eyebrow kinda suspiciously _dammit_.

 

"Oh, man, I bet that's it!" Spencer exclaims somewhat later, after they've exited the vehicle and start walking toward the site. "I see some cameras set up. What in the world are you doing taking photos at an abandoned house? Wait...is that a boom mic? It is! This...isn't a photoshoot...it's-"

 

"The on-location set of _Zombiepocalypse_?" Billy interrupts with a sly grin.

 

Spencer turns to face him, his eyes widening almost comically. "Are you...are you serious right now?"

 

"You bet, dude," Billy says, looking rather full of himself. Ok, so maybe it was Miranda that did all the legwork to allow him on set, but it's the thought that counts, right? He'd probably get a lot of badgering from her about it later but he'd apparently given a great impression of a kicked puppy after she said 'no', so he managed to get what he wanted anyway.  Billy then notices that a myriad of emotions are crossing Spencer's face - so quickly, in fact, Billy's starting to worry that Spencer's brain might actually implode. "Uh, bro," Billy whispers, leaning in closer. "You...ok?"

 

Suddenly Spencer lets out a loud whoop. "Dude, you are seriously the best!" he yells excitedly, words all jumbled together in a rush. Spencer reaches out in what Billy thinks might actually be a _hug_ and for a split second Billy can actually feel Spencer's arms around him. However, Spencer quickly realizes what's happening and he falls through Billy. He looks up from the ground at Billy, a wide smile on his face and embarrassedly running a hand through his hair.

 

"Uh, thanks," Spencer says, picking himself up from the ground.

 

"Sure thing, bro," Billy smiles affectionately. The kid is pretty adorable, he has to admit. Something inside of Billy seems to get warmer whenever he sees Spencer happy. And when _he's_ the reason Spencer's happy? That just makes it feel better. When exactly _did_ this start happening? When did he start caring about making someone else happy just as much as performing and partying and living the lifestyle he'd always dreamed of? Questions for another day. He doesn't like thinking too hard about this kind of thing.

 

Spencer's already running over to the movie set, getting close and inspecting any equipment he wants since he's a ghost and no one's about to stop him. The guys are between shoots but it looks like they're preparing for a scene that's just about like any other zombie film he's seen. Billy doesn't really get the big deal about zombie movies, but he's willing to roll with it. Spencer's talking to himself about all of the equipment, excitedly jumping from one to another. Billy has no idea what any of them do, aside from the obvious like mics and cameras. But as for any sort of special effects? Billy knows nothing about that.

 

"Uh, hello, Mr. Cobra," one of the camera guys says. Billy kinda forgot that Spencer was the only invisible person, so he is a little startled by the guy.

 

"Hey, broducer! I'm ready to watch some _zombie action_!" Billy exclaims, trying to compensate for his lack of interest by sounding extremely excited. Maybe too excited. The guy flinches.

 

"Right, well, uh, as you may or may not be aware, we need to have silence on the set when filming is happening. Are you...like...a fan or something?" The guy asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

"Uh, right. You bet!" Billy says. Even Billy doesn't believe himself. He's a performer, sure, but this has to be his least convincing performance to date.

 

The camera guy raises an eyebrow. "Right...well...we'll be filming a pretty heavy scene, so you're pretty lucky. Don't go spoiling anything!" That's a pointed half-joke if Billy's ever heard one. Yeah, yeah, he won't be ruining anything about this _mega-blockbuster_ zombie movie or whatever. What's there to ruin about a zombie movie, anyway? Surprise, folks - gotcha! There are _zombies_ in this film!

 

"Anyway," the guy says, shifting back to the camera he's operating and away from Billy, "Mr. Desrocher is one of those directors that likes to do things in one take or less if possible. So he's not exactly too happy about you being here. Don't be surprised if he doesn't even acknowledge you. Just...don't get in the way, okay? Some of these effects, we only get one shot. Mr. Desrocher believes in doing things 'for real', you know? Not really much of that post-production CGI," Billy nods. He'll be on his best behavior. Besides, Spencer would be so pissed if he ruined some sort of pivotal scene in a zombie film.

 

Spencer wanders over curiously. "Talking to the key grip?"

 

"The what?" Billy asks, confused. "I thought he was...just a camera guy?"

 

Spencer sighs good-naturedly. "Nah, he's the key grip. So, yeah, he does set up the cameras, but that's not all. He's in charge of readying the set basically. Let me guess - he wants you far away from this set?" Spencer laughs. "I can't even believe they let you out here!"

 

Billy pouts a little. Okay, maybe he does seem a _little_ destructive. But Spencer's the one who put a crater in his floor, dammit!

 

"I got a brief glance at the script," Spencer says excitedly. "Looks like they're doing a big character monologue before some zombie action. The make-up artist has done such an amazing job. I mean, yeah some things will be added post production, but they look great!"

 

"Let's go for a take!" someone shouts. Billy assumes it's the director. Spencer suddenly gets quiet and his attention is completely focused on set.

 

"Quiet on the set!" another man exclaims. Suddenly all of the people on set are completely in their own world. Billy admits it's interesting to watch, at least.

 

"Roll it," a voice says. "Rolling," another responds. "Speed," another voice echoes out. "Forty-six, take one."

 

 _Clack!_ A plate in front of the actor snaps shut. "Action!"

 

The actress on set  (playing what Billy assumes is the main human protagonist) starts her monologue, a container of something Billy can't identify in hand. Not soon after she starts, the director calls out, "Cut. Again!"

 

This process repeats itself for a while, and at this point Billy wants the director to just let the girl finish her damn speech already. Spencer, however, remains enthralled.

 

The actress is nearing the end of her monologue. It's really more of a speech to her younger companion as they stand outside of the abandoned house. Zombies are coming in; Billy guesses they've been hiding in the house but are finally discovered. Cameras zoom around at different angles, boom mics catching the sound of every exhaled breath. Billy listens in. "You shoot 'em, they get right back up, draggin' their goddamn carcasses along the ground. You think you can get away - they aren't that fast. See - that's not how they get ya. Zombies aren't fast - they just don't _stop_. You have to stop. Your gun has to run out of bullets. But they will keep chasing you 'till you can't move no more. Zombies don't die. But you know what?"

 

There's a dramatic pause before the final line.

 

"Zombies _burn._ "

 

The woman splashes the liquid in the container onto one of the zombies, then tosses her cigarette onto it. It erupts into flames. Billy wonders how they ensure it catches fire, how they ensure the actor is okay, things like that...but then he looks over at Spencer.

 

"Cut," the directors voice slices through the air, but Billy's not really paying attention. Spencer's eyes are fixated on the fire, wide and disoriented. It's like the fire is just a sheet of clear plastic and Spencer's seeing something no one else can. Drops of sweat trickle down his face, and his hands are visibly shaking.

 

The director's already ended the take. Billy whispers to Spencer, "Bro...Spencer, hey, can you hear me?" Spencer doesn't respond, he's still staring at the fire and that's when Billy finally _gets it_. Fucking hell. _Fire_.

 

Spencer...is probably reliving his own death. Jesus. Billy has to get him out of here. Fuck, how the hell is he supposed to do that if he can't _touch_ Spencer? Spencer's looking visibly worse. Another take begins and Billy's not supposed to speak but his friend is _falling apart in front of him and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it._ Should he even try to touch Spencer? Would that make it worse?

 

Okay, alright, think clearly. The fire triggered this. Spencer can't be moved. That means Billy has to move instead.

 

Billy shifts in front of Spencer, trying to block the scene from his vision. Spencer's still looking right through him, but maybe he's shaking a little less. A scene is running. Billy isn't supposed to make a noise. He tries to breathe slowly, hoping Spencer will follow. Maybe if he just...stays here...Spencer will calm down. And they can get the fuck out of here.

 

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

 

Spencer's pupils move around wildly, as if searching for something. Shit, Billy was not emotionally equipped to handle this sort of situation. Shh, Spence. Look at me. Do as I do.

 

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

After what feels like hours to Billy but can only be minutes in reality, Spencer raises a shaking hand to his forehead. He says in a small, trembling voice, "I wanna go home."

 

Billy feels an ache in his chest that he doesn't understand. He wonders if Spencer means his old home or if Billy's mansion might be home now. Billy nods, gesturing to the car. He reaches out take a hold of Spencer's hand, even though he goes right through it. He can at least pretend he's helping. He leads Spencer back to where the car is parked, which is fairly far from the set. If any of the people on set noticed Billy's actions they make no move to acknowledge them. Billy can't give less of a shit. He hadn't ruined their stupid fucking movie, were they happy?

 

Billy's thinks he never wants to see a zombie movie again. Hell, _any_ movie again. The pain in his chest won't go away and Spencer still looks haunted and broken and all Billy can think is _it's his fault this happened._

 

Sometime, somehow, Billy Joe Cobra started caring too much.

 

* * *

 

In the darkness, Billy shoots up from his bed, sweat beading on his forehead. He reaches for the light beside his bed frantically, knocking his clock off the end table in the process. Four in the morning, _shit_. The red numbers cast an eerie light in the room. Billy gets out of bed and smashes the clock against the wall in a sudden, destructive motion. He's not sure why he does it. He just has to.

 

He doesn't remember much of the dream, but he does remember Spencer's face. Wasn't it not too long ago Spencer told Billy he was jealous he couldn't sleep? Hah, fuck that. You're lucky, Spence.

 

Billy sure as hell doesn't want to go back to sleep. He's never had a problem with bad dreams before, but ever since he fucked things up so royally by trying to make Spencer happy he hasn't slept well. Makeup teams have to cake it on a little thicker under his eyes and Miranda's voice always seems to have an edge to it. If Spencer notices, he doesn't say anything.

 

Billy grabs a pack of cigs from the drawer on the table by his bedside and heads out to the open balcony where the pool is. He has half a mind to jump in the water in just his boxers. Not sure why. Maybe its whatever made him smash his clock. Not worth thinking about. Nothing's really all that worth thinking about.

 

He leans against the railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. Part of Billy wants his old life back, where he didn't give a damn about anything as long as his fans loved him. Part of Billy can't stand the idea of losing his only friend. That's what Spence is, right? A friend?

 

Who the fuck needs a friend when thousands of people love you? Thousands of people that'd do anything to see you perform, talk to you, touch you? That's really all Billy needs, all he ever wanted. Billy takes another long drag, exhaling a large cloud of smoke that obscures the large drop separating him from the ground.

 

Popstar Billy Joe Cobra is back. He's not letting anything slow him down. Not feelings, not concern, not a dead kid that doesn't need someone like Billy in his afterlife. He's going back to how things were, and no one is going to get hurt again.

 

* * *

 

"Is there a reason you've been putting vodka in all your drinks today?" Spencer asks suspiciously.

 

"Pre-gaming," Billy says noncommittally, taking a sip of the coke he'd poured probably one-too-many shots of vodka into. Shoulda gone with rum. But he likes to be consistent and putting rum in sprite earlier would have been brotesque.

 

"Seriously? You know it's a Tuesday right?" Spencer says incredulously.

 

"The Freaky Tiki room is in desperate need of some lovin', Brodin," Billy drawls.

 

"It's just...yeah, okay, you don't actually have a day job so I guess there's no reason it'd be weird today, huh. It seems like you've been, you know, partying a lot more often recently," Spencer trails off, mostly talking to himself. He seems alright. Billy honestly can't tell if Spencer's been acting differently since-

                                                 

_Don't think about it._

"Look, if you don't wanna join the raging you can just sit in your room and be a killjoy. The Cobra's goin' all out tonight, though."

 

Spencer looks a little pissed. "What the heck is with you lately?"

 

Billy shrugs. "Not sure what you mean."

 

Spencer for a second looks angrier, but then he deflates a little. Billy says nothing. Spencer opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but stops himself. He turns and silently floats up the stairs to his bedroom. Billy watches and doesn't do anything.

 

The vodka burns his throat. It feels good.

 

* * *

 

The music is pounding, Billy's head is swimming, and the feel of bodies against his own is electric. He turns his head, his vision trying to keep up. People laugh. People dance. People love him.

 

Maybe that last shot of Brose Cuervo was one too many? Nah, fuck it.

 

He's forgotten all about Spencer until suddenly he appears through the crowd, phasing through the bodies, barely discernible in the low light.

 

_Spencer what are you doing here? You don't like this. You're dead. No one can see you, no one can touch you. What's the fun in that?_

 

Spencer's talking to him, shouting even, but Billy can't hear the words clearly over the music and the humming in his ears. _What do you want, Spencer?_

He looks angry. Billy stops dancing with a girl, much to her dismay. She strokes his chest a little in hopes of eliciting a response, but when she gets nothing in return she's quick to leave. Spencer says something else, but Billy can't discern the words so he doesn't respond.

 

Spencer looks lost for words now, an expression of resignation on his face. Why is he so upset? What did Billy do this time?

 

_Fine, bro. If you wanna be that way..._

 

Billy reaches for the watch on his wrist, and barely registers Spencer's eyes widening. Spencer reaches out towards Billy as he unclasps the link, but before Spencer can get close enough to potentially touch him-

 

He disappears.

 

Billy slips the watch into his pocket, and moves to the waterfalls on the side of room. He puts his head under the stream of water, soaking his hair and splashing it on his clothes. People laugh and join him, drunkenly splashing each other and thinking it's the most incredible thing in the world. Billy's drunk enough that it feels like it just might be.

 

From across the room, his private bartender pours high-proof vodka on the bar counter then sets it aflame. People around gasp, giggle and fall over in surprise. Billy stares, his head not moving but the images shaking. Something about looking at the fire makes him feel cold. But he's not sure why, and he doesn't want to figure it out. He moves his head out from under the waterfall, sliding in and out of the crowd, trying to forget the flames that still sear at the edges of his vision.


	5. The Phone Call

Spencer left Billy's mansion a few hours ago. He couldn't stand to be there any longer, not after Billy had taken off his watch. His face feels hot remembering it, his hands involuntarily balling up into fists. He's just floating aimlessly now around the vicinity. He'd never really explored without Billy, which he thinks now was rather stupid. He could go anywhere. Why hadn't he?

 

Why had he stayed? With that...stupid, immature _bastard_?

 

Spencer wants to kick something but also doesn't want to try for fear of failing. That'd be even more frustrating. He looks up to the building he's somehow ended up in front of during his aimless wandering. It's skinny, but incredibly tall. The words Wi-Fri are emblazoned on the side in huge, red lettering. It looks pretty hip - it's a Tuesday night so not much is happening, but there seem to be a few patrons inside. Spencer wonders if he would ever hang out here if he were just a normal kid growing up in Beverly Heights.

 

Would things be different if he'd lived here? Would he have friends? Or would he be alone, just like back home? Sure, he had acquaintances, but no one he was really that close to. It'd been fine with him - more time to make and edit movie clips - but now he regrets it. Now there's no one. There's nothing for Spencer anymore, which is _fine_ anyway because he's dead. Why can't he just move on? It'd make Billy's life a lot easier, not having to deal with a ghost, and there's nothing for Spencer here anyway.

 

Billy. Spencer tenses again thinking about their altercation. He'd finally worked up the nerve to confront Billy about his weird behavior recently - the screaming at night, the distant behavior, the increased partying - and what had Billy done? He'd just...stood there silently and took off Spencer's watch.

 

Spencer's angry, yeah, but he's also hurt. Since he'd never had many close friends he wasn't used to worrying about someone, much less worrying about someone only to have them blow him off. He'd been with Billy a few months now, and he really thought... that they were _friends_.

 

Spencer's eyes sting a little, but he's not crying. He's just standing in the lot of the Wi-Fri, watching people laugh from outside the windows, and feeling dreadfully alone. He tries to quell his worry with anger but he's unsuccessful and it gnaws at him, tying his stomach in knots. He hasn't quite gotten this ghost-thing figured out yet - but he does know he doesn't have much of a problem with physical pain anymore. Shame emotional pain isn't similarly exempt.

 

_Why is Billy acting this way? Why is he so upset?_

 

Spencer tries to trace it's origin to an event, but he just can't figure it out. He and Billy are together so often, though, he feels like he must know what happened in the back of his mind. He's missing something, but he can't figure out what.

 

He needs to ask Billy again, when Billy isn't drunk. Assuming that Billy puts the watch back on. He has to, right? He can't...he wouldn't leave Spencer forever just like that, would he?

 

Spencer thinks that watching people hang out at the Wi-Fri is probably about as interesting as watching people party at the Cobra Mansion, so he might as well head back. Maybe then he can at least watch Billy, see if he gets any indication of why he's acting the way he is.

 

Spencer floats back in the direction of home. _Billy's house_ , he corrects himself.

 

He arrives at the door, the huge gold "B" on the handle seemingly taunting him. He phases through the door and into the entryway of the house. Finding Billy is going to be a real challenge. The mansion is _huge_ and the party doesn't seem to be winding down. People are littered throughout the house; Billy could be anywhere.

 

Spencer closes his eyes, willing himself to  float a little higher. It's a mostly successful effort: easier to see people from above instead of in the midst of a crowd. He searches the bottom floors first, even the hallways with seemingly endless rooms (though he only finds a few people messing around in the recording studio), before making his way up to the patio.

 

Billy's not near the pool, either. Spencer keeps searching, telling himself that Billy's probably still in the Freaky Tiki room. There's a bed in there, right? Maybe Billy's found a girl he likes. Spencer doesn't particularly want to witness that so he hopes that isn't the case. It was bad enough when he'd accidentally witnessed that handjob once backstage - he'd rather not catch Billy having a more intimate form of sex. Bleh.

 

However, Billy is nowhere to be found in the Freaky Tiki room. The bartender's still doing tricks, juggling flare bottles to the delight of drunken onlookers, many of them still wet from the fountain incident earlier. Spencer remembers watching Billy walk into the waterfalls cascading down the wall, leaning his head back and letting the water rush over him after taking Spencer's watch off. Like he was washing himself clean of Spencer.

 

Spencer leaves. He doesn't want to be there anymore. But he can't find Billy anywhere, no matter how hard he looks. He doesn't understand. Wouldn't Billy be around a lot of people? Wouldn't he be in the middle of a crowd, the center of attention?

 

That's when Spencer realizes there's one place he hasn't considered: Billy's bedroom. Billy never really went up there with people around, much preferring company...but maybe he was with a girl? Spencer phases into the elevator. He's got two options: push the buttons or fly. He decides he'll probably be more successful floating - he still hasn't mastered physically interacting with objects. He soars up the shaft, stopping at the top and phasing through the door and grating.

 

He sees Billy on the bed. But something's wrong.

 

Billy's just lying there, back leaning against the headboard in an awkward position and hair matted to his face with sweat. His eyes are half-lidded, but he wouldn't be able to see Spencer anyway. Spencer floats over to get closer. The pupils of his eyes are incredibly small. Billy's lips are blue and it looks like he's barely breathing. His breaths are gurgled and labored, and a trail of drool leaks out of one side of his unmoving mouth. The moment is still so immediate and unbelievable that Spencer still hasn't had time to wrap his mind around what's happening. "Billy...?" he says, even though he knows Billy can't hear him. Billy's chest is barely rising and falling. Very, very slowly.

 

_Oh my god...what...what the hell happened?_

 

That's when Spencer notices the needle on the bed, near Billy's right hand. _Shit, he didn't really..?_

He has to do something, God, he has to do something! But what can he do? 9-1-1. Billy needs a hospital. But how the _hell_ is he supposed to call 9-1-1? He's a ghost, no one can hear him!

 

No one can hear him, no one can see him, he can't touch anything...

 

No, wait. He can do this. _Come on, Spencer. Think._ Trying to get someone from the party up here would be incredibly difficult and would probably result in wasted time. Billy's gotta have his cell phone in his pocket. God, he hopes it wasn't damaged in the water earlier.

 

Spencer reaches a shaking hand into Billy's pocket, but he can't grasp the phone. _Come on, Spencer, COME ON!_ He reaches back in, grabbing over and over but he _can't do anything_. Why can't he touch it? He's touched things before, things that didn't matter. Why can't he do this? Why can't he help? He feels something hot streaming down his face and realizes he's crying. He has to pull himself together.

 

"Where the hell are your _people_?" Spencer screams angrily, choking back a sob. His voice is cracking and it's hard to breathe. "Don't you have security? Something? God, Billy, where are they? Where are people that can help you?"

 

He's never felt so helpless. Even while he was trapped in his room as his house burned down he was able to move, to touch, to try to do something that would save his life. Spencer chokes on the memory of the fire, feeling the heat of the flames creep up on him like he's reliving it all over again. He doesn't want to remember and he doesn't have _time_ to remember-

 

Spencer slams his fist down on the bed, and to his surprise makes contact. Billy shifts, one of his arms twitching. "Who's...there?" he slurs, clearly disoriented. Spencer takes a gamble and slaps Billy on his thigh where his pocket is, hoping it will lead him to the phone. He thankfully is able to make contact. _Just take it out of your pocket, please, Billy, please._

 

Billy's movements are very sluggish. He's clearly delirious. But Spencer gasps in relief when Billy reaches for where Spencer hit him, bumping against the phone, causing it to fall out of his pocket. It lands face-up. Spencer exhales a sigh of relief, a moment's calm in the storm. Something's going right.

Spencer steels himself, trying to dial 9-1-1. It's just five buttons, five pokes of the finger: a very simple motion. Phone-9-1-1-Call. He can feel himself sweating, but he has to do this. _This could be the most important thing you've ever fucking done, Spencer Wright._

He finally manages to hit the call button, and hears the ring. Someone picks up. That's when he realizes the flaw in his plan. No one can hear him! _Damn, they're gonna think this is some teenager fucking around-_

 

"Hello, 9-1-1, please state your emergency," someone says on the other line. Adrenaline is pumping through him. What can he do? How can he make them understand? All he can do is push _buttons-_

In a frenzy he tries to remember SOS in morse code. It's supposed to be easy - one letter is three long, one is three short. But which is which? _It doesn't fucking matter!_ He pushes the numeric buttons in what he hopes sounds like a deliberate pattern. _Short short short. Long Long Long._

 

The man on the other line seems confused. "Excuse me, can you speak, whoever is there? Can you tell me your emergency? Where you are?" _Dammit,_ Spencer thinks. This is probably the most obvious place in Beverley Heights, a place anyone would know immediately if this person could just hear him.

 

"Hey, can you hear me? Please press a button if you can hear me."

 

Spencer complies.

 

"Alright, so you can't talk. We're going to trace your call, ok? Is this a medical emergency?"

 

Spencer presses another button, still high on adrenaline. No way is he going to fail now. Billy Joe Cobra isn't going to die today if he has anything to do with it.

 

"Ok, looks like you're on a cell phone, so I'm going to use the GPS on the phone to trace your call since it's not a landline. We'll be there shortly with an ambulance."

 

Spencer breathes a sigh of relief. He can hardly believe that worked. _God._ He looks over to Billy. He's still in really bad shape, even less movement and signs of life. What the hell was he thinking, shooting up like that? And did he not have enough self-control to keep it at a manageable dose?

 

The worry creeps back up on Spencer. What if they can't get here in time? What if they can't figure out to come to Billy's bedroom? This house is huge, and they would have no idea where to start. _But what else can he do?_ His eyes dart back to the phone. There's only one person he knows that would be familiar enough with the inside of the mansion and possibly Billy's behavior (had he ever done this before? God, he doesn't want to think about it). He presses the speed-dial button on the phone. Sure enough, there's only one number, and it's Miranda. It might not help but Spencer has to _try_.

 

"Billy?" she answers promptly, but with an edge to her voice. "Why are you calling so late? Please tell me this isn't some sort of frivolous drunk call...?"

 

There's confused silence for a bit and Spencer's about to press a button or something when he hears her mumbling to herself. "My God...your call log has 9-1-1 on it...Billy, are you there? Are you okay? Billy!"

 

The last part is practically screamed. She stays on the line despite receiving no answer.

 

"I'm coming over there immediately," she says curtly. "I can't hear anything, so I'm assuming you're alone. So if I find people in your mansion when I get there, you're somewhere away from them. Somewhere private. You in your bedroom?"

 

She's talking to herself but Spencer silently thanks her deduction skills. Part of him is slightly unnerved for a reason he can't quite pinpoint in the moment but he'll have time to dwell on it later. Miranda stays on the line, and he can hear the faint background sounds of her leaving to drive to the mansion.

 

Spencer looks back over to Billy, still limp on the bed. "There's only gonna be one dead person in this room tonight," he promises, even if Billy can't hear a word he says.

 

* * *

 

Agony. That's the only word for it. Billy unleashes a scream, barely registering the shot into his arm. _What the fuck is going on?_

Where is- _Jesus, the pain won't stop!_ His whole body feels like something deep within him is burning and nothing he can do can penetrate far enough to fix it. It's the worst pain Billy's ever felt in his life and it's further intensified by the fact that the last thing he remembers is a feeling of absolute bliss. He has no idea how it got to this point. For a moment he thinks the pain is so intense it would really be better just to die-

 

Billy promptly vomits. He vaguely registers someone holding a bucket for him. Is it...someone from EMS? Is he..moving?

 

Thinking through the pain feels impossible. Billy's entire world right now is agony. He spews vomit, his mind racing in circles, trying to process all of the sensations.

 

* * *

 

It feels like a lifetime later when Billy's registers he's in what looks to be a hospital room, the beeping of a heart monitor at the forefront of his consciousness. He's hooked up to an IV and his throat feels rough. He was probably hooked up to a mechanical ventilator earlier - if he thinks about it he can almost relive the sensation of having the tube shoved down his throat, trying to suppress a wave of nausea. He decides to stop trying to remember. His entire body aches, but it's a dull pain - like he was hit by a train a day ago, so the sensation has dulled. Great analogy, Cobra. No one's ever compared pain levels to being hit by a train!

 

"Oh, you're awake?"

 

Billy sees an attractive young nurse out of the corner of his vision. Under any other circumstances he would be flirting with her, but he isn't exactly at the top of his game. She doesn't look like she's really expecting an answer anyway. She comes up to his bedside, checking monitors and taking a cursory examination of his physical condition. He imagines he looks like shit. Well, compared to his usual self - he likes to think he's still hotter than half the population of Beverley Heights.

 

"We've administered two doses of a narcotic antagonist - that's a drug that counteracts the heroin," she says while she works in a calm, comforting voice. "Heroin is particularly difficult to overdose with compared to other drugs with higher toxicity. You likely didn't realize the dosage due to the alcohol in your system and thought you were administering a typical amount. You're lucky you didn't have too much alcohol either - it's practically a miracle you don't have major organ damage."

 

Heroin? Did he shoot up last night? Right, he did, didn't he? When he didn't understand the pain he felt and the alcohol wasn't making it go away. The heroin sure worked, though...to a point. Sure makes it easy to run from something; he keeps it in his bedside table like a safety escape for whatever he doesn't want to deal with.

 

"Don't mix the two again," the nurse warns. "That's how people die. You're lucky we found you when we did. From what I heard from the EMS you were alone. Somehow you managed to dial 9-1-1."

 

Dial 9-1-1? Billy doesn't remember that. But if she says it happened, he believes her. He doesn't exactly trust his recollections of last night's events.

 

She must see the confusion on his face. "Yeah, I dunno either, champ. You seemed barely fit to move, much less make a phone call." There's a commotion in the hallway, and the nurse sighs. "Well... _two_ phone calls."

 

"Ms. Xavier! Mr. Cobra isn't ready for visitors other than family yet!" a voice from the hallway echoes in exasperation.

 

Right, Miranda. Who's probably not too happy about this fiasco.

 

"Well his family isn't coming! I'm the closest he's got, so _let me in the damn room!_ " Miranda shrieks. Billy's already starting to feel a sense of dread in his stomach, which really doesn't complement the general sense of pain he's experiencing. The door to the room slams open, revealing Miranda and a male nurse that's clearly fed up with dealing with her shit. Miranda's always been pretty unstoppable when she wants something.

 

"Billy..." she breathes, seeing him in the bed. But her expression freezes over in anger. "What the hell were you thinking?" she screams, approaching the bed menacingly, only to be physically stopped by the nurse that was talking to Billy earlier and the male nurse from behind.

 

"Ms. Xavier, please don't antagonize the patient, he's still in recovery!" the woman pleads, but with an edge to her voice. Miranda relaxes a little, but she's still glaring at Billy. That's when he thinks to ask-

 

"C-Can I have...watch...? It's...my pocket," he asks, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He doesn't recognize his own voice, marred from physical injury and disuse. He knows in his mind that it's impossible this is anything more than temporary, but for a moment his heart pounds faster at the idea of not being able to sing again.

 

Miranda's expression steels even more than before, her eyes aflame at the mention of the watch. "I'm going to figure out who the hell gave you that watch, _Mr. Cohen_ ," she promises before being escorted out of the room by the male nurse.

 

The female nurse turns back to Billy. "Mr. Cobra, I think you're still a little confused. You don't need your watch right now. I can tell you the time: it's 3:07 pm."

 

He tries to shake his head but his neck protests adamantly. "No...please...wanna hold it."

 

The nurse looks confused for a moment before gathering that he wants the watch for something other than the time. She smiles a little, no doubt imagining it to be a keepsake of someone special to Billy. Billy can't blame her for thinking that. It is.

 

"Ok, I'll be right back okay?" she says kindly. While she's gone he stares up at the white ceiling, studying it for chips in the paint to distract himself from the dull ache all over his body. Minutes trudge by far slower than they have any right to, and the nurse returns. She carefully puts the watch in his hand and closes his fingers around it so it doesn't fall.

 

On the opposite wall, near the foot of his hospital bed, Spencer appears.

 

"Can I...have time alone?" he manages to ask, and the nurse nods knowingly before leaving the room.

 

He locks eyes with Spencer, whose gaze is unwavering, almost like a challenge. But Spencer looks so much more tired than usual. Shouldn't Billy be the tired one, after all he's been through?

 

"Have you...?" Billy starts.

 

"The whole time," Spencer says, never looking away from him. "I left the party once...but since then I haven't left you."

 

It's like something is stinging inside Billy's chest, something altogether different from the ache he feels in every inch of his body. Something raw and concentrated and it _hurts_ like the dull ache never could.

 

"Why?" Spencer asks, trying to seem like he's holding it all together, but the crack in his voice betrays him. He could mean a number of things, Billy thinks. Why have you been acting this way? Why did you use heroin?

 

_Why...Why did you take off the watch?_

 

He remembers it suddenly, a fluid motion of memories washing over him like the waterfall he stood under what seems like just a moment ago. Spencer coming into the room, looking angry and sad, and him...taking off the watch. Seeing Spencer disappear as he reached out towards him in one desperate moment-

 

"I'm sorry," Billy says, because that's all he can think to say. He's not up for explanations, for excusing his behavior. He hurts so much in so many ways and all he can do right now is apologize.

 

Spencer looks at him, sad and resigned. "It's...it's okay, Billy. I'm just glad you're alright." He looks to the side, breaking eye contact since the first moment he appeared. "Do you remember the night we had that horror movie marathon?"

 

"Couldn't forget it," Billy says with a bit of bitter humor, which elicits a choked laugh from Spencer. He wishes Spencer would laugh like he used to, free and uninhibited.

 

"Well, afterward, after you'd fallen asleep, I asked you a question. I asked you why I was here - why me, why am I a ghost? And...I think I've finally figured it out."

 

Spencer breathes in, then exhales slowly. "I died to keep you alive."

 

"S-Spencer..." Billy breathes, a myriad of emotions running through him. He tries to pin it down to a single feeling but it's all mixed together - bad feelings, good feelings - and he can't characterize it in a single word. He doesn't know what to say. What _can_ you say to that? So he settles on clearing things up a bit. "So...you saved me?" he asks.

 

Spencer looks back at him, meeting his eyes. "I...well I had a hand in it. I called 9-1-1 and Miranda. When I found you in your bedroom like that..." Spencer shudders visibly at the memory and Billy suddenly feels a deep sense of guilt for what he's put this kid through. First the shit at the movie set and now this? He can't handle this, he can't handle how much he's hurting Spencer whenever he's trying his best not to-

 

"I'm...s-s-sorry," Billy chokes out. "So...so sorry!" His voices raises on the last word, increasing in pitch and volume. He closes his eyes tightly and clenches his fist around the watch. The heart monitor beeps faster and when he opens his eyes Spencer's there leaning over him saying, "Billy, Billy, it's ok, it's alright," like he's the one that needs to be comforted.

 

"You...should leave. Leave me. Keep hurting you," he manages, missing words and syllables because of the whirlwind in his mind and the condition of his throat. Spencer shushes him, putting a hand over his - and even though he can't feel anything, it's comforting.

 

"I'm not leaving you," Spencer says adamantly. "I'm not losing any more of my family."

 

At the admission, everything in Billy suddenly grinds to a halt for a second. Then suddenly, it's like everything is pouring out of him, like he can't hold it back and he's _crying_ , wet hot tears running down his face as Spencer looks on worriedly, repeating his name _Billy, Billy, Billy_  and he can't _take it_ anymore, he doesn't _understand_. He's cried before, always over stupid things or to get his way, nothing like this -nothing that's aching for release and that hurts so much but feels so cathartic at the same time.

 

_My family._

 

"Billy, I'm sorry, did I say something bad...?" he registers Spencer saying through the storm inside his head - thoughts, feelings, sensations - it's been just too much for him all at once. He tries to focus on Spencer.

 

"No...not bad," he chokes out between sobs. "It's good. I...sorry. Didn't know." Spencer looks at him in confusion, worry still written across his face. He doesn't know how to articulate how he's feeling, not in this overwhelmed state. All he can manage is a single word: "Family."

 

Spencer's expression softens. "Yeah...we're family. You're all I've got left, dude. Can't have you dying on me yet." Spencer smiles a little. Billy tries to smile back but he's gotta look like a fucking wreck right now.

 

The answer had never been for Billy to stay away from Spencer. The answer's staring him in the face, the answer's right here in this hospital room with Spencer standing over him talking about 'family'. The answer is that they need each other. Spencer's not better off without him, he never was. And Billy will never be better off without Spencer. Billy's fucked up a lot and he's definitely going to fuck up more in the future but the least he can do right now is move forward.

 

"T-Thank you, Spence," he says, something that's very overdue. Spencer half-smiles back at him, probably remembering the whole ordeal from a bystander's point of view. Billy wonders what it must have been like, watching him scream and vomit and seize not knowing if everything would be okay. He imagines having to watch Spencer go through that, feeling completely powerless...the least Spencer deserves is a 'thank you'.

 

Spencer scratches the back of his head hesitantly before talking. "Look, Billy...I-I know something's been bothering you lately, something that eventually led to all of this. You can talk to me, you know? Do...do you feel up for talking about it? I...don't want this to happen again..."

 

The sad expression on Spencer's face makes his throat feel ever drier - he's not about to start talking about the long road of addiction, and how it's going to happen again in some capacity no matter what Spencer does. But he's going to make sure it doesn't happen _this way_ ever again. He has a responsibility to tell Spencer the mistake that started this downward spiral.

 

"The movie set," Billy stutters, struggling with how to explain his recent behavior.

 

The looks on Spencer's face is one of utter confusion. "D-Did something happen I didn't notice? Did something happen to you while I was having that...ah...panic attack?" Spencer struggles with the word like he's afraid of the name, afraid to characterize his behavior like that even though they are both fully aware that's exactly what it was.

 

"No. No, no," Billy says, still attempting to articulate his point. "My fault. The attack."

 

Spencer still looks confused, but gradually recognition seems to dawn on his face, with something almost akin to anger quick to follow. "You think that was your fault? All of this...this happened because you felt _responsible_ for that?" Spencer's intensity raises as he speaks, his voice taut like a stretched rope.

 

Billy looks away from Spencer. He doesn't think it's that ridiculous of a notion. Spencer tries to collect himself and continues, "Billy, I'm sorry, but that's just...crazy. You helped me, don't you remember? You brought me there and it was _so cool_ and then when something bad happened you _helped me_. How could you possibly feel guilty about that? I...I never even imagined that could be the reason..."

 

He still isn't convinced, so he's not going to apologize. He's still going to blame himself, and he doesn't think it's crazy. But if _Spencer_ doesn't blame him, if _Spencer_ isn't upset...maybe that makes it okay.

 

Spencer must register the lack of conviction Billy feels, because he sighs and says, "Ok, maybe you don't believe me, but that's how I feel. You can't just blame yourself because you had a hand in a series of chain events that led to it. Is the writer of the script responsible because he included that scene? No, that'd be ridiculous. It's the same for you. Just...try to believe me, dude. And...please try not to deal with your problems like this again."

 

Billy still doesn't believe him, but he's willing to make an effort. For both of them.

 

"I...I'll try, Dr. Bronard McCoy," he manages, doing his best to smile.

 

Spencer smiles in return. "Well if you can make a lame bro-pun like that I guess you're already doing better."


	6. The Grammys

It's been nearly two weeks since Billy was discharged from the hospital. Theoretically, things should be much calmer now - discounting any potential relapses, but really, he _thinks_ that things are mostly kind of under control. Unfortunately, things have not been quite so smooth - and it's actually not his fault this time.

 

"Mr. Cohen, have you even been following the daily routine you were subscribed? The Grammy's are just days away! Need I remind you how incredibly important this is? Not just for you, but for _me_ as well as your _record label_?"

 

God dammit.

 

"Miranda, _please_ , I've totally got this. My makeup team can work miracles, anyway."

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "Be that as it may, you have a _responsibility_ to appear presentable. At all times. You know exactly what it will be like once we get to Los Angeles - you won't have a break. You've got to maintain that natural flawlessness the teenagers drop their undergarments over."

 

Billy pouts. He thinks he is currently doing a fantastic job of maintaining natural flawlessness and isn't exactly thrilled that Miranda disagrees. "Okay, okay, relax Miranda. I'll do what you say. Or at least _try_ to do all of it. As if I could forget with you around here all the time, anyway."

 

She sighs. "I'm just doing my job, Billy. Things will all calm down in a week."

 

Billy smiles widely at her. "I know. Thanks, Miranda."

 

She smiles in return.

 

* * *

 

Billy had made some sort of truce with Miranda, and while it's true that he really is _trying_ to follow her endless guidelines and orders it doesn’t make him any less annoyed by all of it. Every little slip on his part and he gets another lecture about his 'responsibilities'; not to mention Spencer's been acting odd as well. Billy doesn't see him as much anymore - he's off doing his own thing, though Billy doesn't know what it could be. And when they _do_ interact, he's got the same edge as Miranda - like he's judging everything Billy's doing. It's maddening, and it's driving Billy absolutely _crazy_ for the both of them to constantly be watching him like he's a fuckin' _child_.

 

It's when he’s in the kitchen just grabbing a growler of _La Fin Du Monde_ when his patience finally breaks. Spencer's floating near him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, and Billy really can't take that _look_ anymore, that condescending ' _Billy-Joe-Cobra-You're-Doing-Something-Wrong-Again'_ look that Spencer and Miranda seem to constantly be sporting nowadays. Spencer says nothing, but that look is enough, and Billy finally breaks the silence.

 

"Look, if you think I'm gonna change my life completely you've got another thing coming, Brobadiah. I couldn't even if I _wanted_ to. Which I don't. There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing right now. And I get that it makes you uncomfortable, but you're being way too sensitive and paranoid. I'm sorry. There's a difference between what happened two weeks ago and what I'm doing now - a really fuckin' big one. You gotta see that. I'm sorry, bro, that's just how it is."

 

Spencer looks down, defeated, probably realizing he's wrong. Billy sometimes forgets what a sheltered kid he is. He's probably just still a little troubled from the incident, which is understandable. But Billy' knows what he's doing for the most part, contrary to popular belief, and if he needs some goddamn alcohol to fight off the need for something _worse_ \- well he's damn well gonna get it.

 

He's just _really fucking tired_ of being treated like some kind of delicate flower by Spencer and Miranda. He's an adult, goddammit. Maybe he doesn’t have the best track-record in decision-making but he deserves some kind of autonomy. He carefully unlatches the cap, looking at Spence out of the corner of his eye as he starts the pour it into the tulip glass he brought with him, the aroma of hops wafting throughout the room.

 

"It's beer, man. Just _beer_. And nothing bad is gonna happen because of it."

 

Billy leaves the kitchen with the glass in hand, but Spencer doesn't follow.

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry," Spencer says to Billy the next day. Billy's come down for breakfast and Spencer's floating in the living room, waiting and wringing his hands a little. "I know I'm being stupid and irrational. It’s just...I still worry."

 

Billy sighs, plopping down on the couch and motioning for Spencer to join him by patting the cushion next to him. Spencer floats over, avoiding Billy's gaze.

 

"Look, Spence," Billy starts, "I can't just...quit. That's not how it works. I'm gonna keep drinking alcohol, I'm gonna keep smoking, and hell I'm even going to drop some acid every now and then. But I know when to stop. What you saw happen - that’s not gonna happen again. I promise. Just...trust me a little bit, bro?"

 

Spencer nods almost imperceptibly before forcing a smile. Well, it's somewhat genuine, but Billy can see that he's not exactly happy with the information. Spencer exhales, poking absentmindedly at the armrest of the couch. Billy notices the cushion moves in response. _Since when could he physically interact with the world so well?_

 

"There's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about, too," Spencer says finally. Billy's not sure what to think about that. Spencer's still got this serious look in his eye and Billy has no idea where's he going with this.

 

"Uh...shoot, Brodysseus."

 

"It's about Miranda," Spencer admits, still being obtuse.

 

"Miranda...?" Billy breathes. "Uh, what do you mean?"

 

"Don't you think it's odd the way she acts?" Spencer challenges, looking Billy in the eye. "Especially now - she's coming every day, always checking up on you, giving you all these weird rules-"

 

Billy laughs a little, interrupting Spencer. "Bro, seriously, that's just her style. She stays on top of her game. The Grammy's are coming up, they're a big deal, and she's freaking out a little more than usual. That's it."

 

Spencer isn't backing down. "But what about at the hospital? When she was so angry about my watch? Isn't it weird she’s so angry at the possibility that you have some sort of connection with another person she doesn't know about?"

 

Billy recalls the incident, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's definitely true that she was angry - really angry. But that didn’t mean whatever Spencer was trying to imply.  "Spencer, look, she was just upset about the incident, right? She came and found me all fucked up and was at the hospital and couldn't see me - you know, just like...stress or something. Stress does things to people, they don’t always act how you think they should. You can't use that as an example for...what? Is this some kinda conspiracy theory of yours?"

 

Spencer sighs, but his eyes are still determined. "Why don't you see it?" he mutters to himself before continuing, "Billy, on that night...she knew to come here because she monitors your calls. She saw the call to 9-1-1. Isn't that odd to you? That she monitors all of your calls? That she has access to the speaker systems in your house? All of this?"

 

Billy is silent. He's not sure what to say to that for a while, or why the picture Spencer's trying to make him see causes him to feel so uncomfortable. "Look, Spence, for a long time Miranda was all I had, alright? She helped me get where I am today. She might have her quirks or whatever, but...she's pretty much the reason I have everything I do. I'm sure she's concerned about me just like you are, she just has a unique way of showing it. Maybe you think this stuff is weird, but that's just how it is."

 

Spencer doesn't say anything, just bites his lip. _Oh well._ Billy's hungry, so gets up to head to the kitchen. This time, Spencer follows.

 

* * *

 

The three days leading up to the Grammy's are always insane - full of media rounds, luncheons, and performances, all against the backdrop of Los Angeles. Performances? Billy can handle those. If there's one thing he's always had a talent for, it's putting on a good show - and he never tires of it. He could listen to fans chant his name forever. Media rounds? Now that is something Billy hates. It's the same bullshit questions over and over and as naturally charming as he likes to think he is, he can only keep it up for so long. How many Grammy predictions will he have to make? How many times does he have to tell people he's "damn sure" he'll be taking home at least one of those golden trophies? Jesus, it really is just the worst.

 

But the pace of L.A. is staggering as always, the city perpetually alight and people crowding on the sidewalks, packing together in cars, and shoving past each other on public transportation. It makes Beverley Heights seem that much more boring by comparison; sure, not everyone here is as wealthy, but Billy loves surrounding himself with others, and the spark he gets from the people is enough to drive him forward through the tedious appearances.

 

Spencer, however, has remained in a child-like state of complete awe - even during the interviews, which Billy thinks is pretty ridiculous. It's not like Spencer has never witnessed him being interviewed before. But maybe the city and all of the starlets have gotten to him too, so he doesn't mention it. Damn, what would Spencer do if this were the _Oscars_? With movie stars and directors roaming around L.A. for days? _Probably shit himself._

 

The days pass in a way that seems to Billy to be both slowly and quickly at the same time until he finds himself in the hotel lobby with Miranda the evening before the Grammys. The hotel is posh, as one would expect, and Billy's managed to snag a suite on the top floor. He's not sure why, but he's always liked living on top of the world, able to look down over a city or town. Kinda like being on stage.

 

"Now, I needn't remind you that this dinner with your record label and several sponsors is of utmost importance and utmost formality," Miranda says as they stroll through the lobby. She's staying at the hotel as well, but Billy doesn't know which room. "Which means you're going to have to wear that nice suit we brought. Just leave your makeup on from earlier today and don't touch your hair. Also...you're going to have to take off that cheap watch. It's hardly fitting in such a setting."

 

Billy notices Spencer glaring out of the corner of his eye, but he finds it hard to argue with Miranda. Her reasoning is pretty solid. He rides the elevator to the top floor and slides his keycard to enter his luxurious suite. It really is a shame he's got such a nice bed and no one to share it with.

 

"You're not _really_ going to take off the watch, are you?" Spencer asks, his tone incredulous.

 

"Look, Brosiah, I don't really have a choice here. The dinner is always so swanky and there are sponsors there and...well, it's just one night, okay? Not even one night - just a few hours. I promise it'll be alright."

 

Spencer looks skeptical, but says nothing.

 

"Spence, hey, nothing is gonna happen like last time. I'm doing a little better now, if I do say so myself. And I'll be surrounded by people. Just...go out and explore L.A., it's an interesting place. Go looking for rockstars, get lost in the crowd. Have some fun! It'd suck to go to this boring dinner, anyway."

 

Spencer manages a half-smile at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It wouldn't be much fun."

 

Billy grins widely. "That's the spirit, Brometheus!" He gives Spencer a mock-salute, then attempts to remove the watch while waving his hand goodbye, making Spencer laugh. It's the last Billy hears of him, and he places the watch on the dresser while he takes off his clothes to get ready for the dinner.

 

Suddenly he hears the click and beep of the electronic lock on his door, and the door opens to reveal Miranda. He is a little flustered, and quickly finishes putting the suit on.

 

"I thought you would have been ready by now," she says, raising an eyebrow and sitting on the bed as Billy buttons up his overcoat.

 

"Well I didn't know you had the key to my door," he jokes.

 

"Makes things easier," Miranda says nonchalantly, examining her nails.

 

* * *

 

The dinner is going pretty much exactly as Billy expected it to go: boring as shit. Sure, fancy food is nice but this isn't exactly his scene. He's never liked small talk or been very good at it. Most conversations that aren't about him he tends to tune out, anyway.

 

Billy pouts and prods at his salmon fillet. _Don't play with your food, Mr Cohen! Yeah, yeah, I'm Billy Joe Cobra and I do what I want._

 

Suddenly, out of the dull noise Billy's been paying no attention to, he realizes someone is asking him a question directly. Most likely someone important. He sighs.

 

"Can you...repeat the question?" Billy attempts to say, but something is wrong. His words aren't coming out like he wants them to and his speech is slurred. He notices Miranda beside him looking at him very intensely. _What the hell is going on?_

 

"Billy, are you okay?" Miranda asks, hesitant.

 

"Yeah...yeah, just need to go to the bathroom." Billy tries to rise from his seat, but his legs are unsteady. He rests a hand on the back of the chair to hold himself up. He thinks he sees Miranda's eyes darting back and forth between him and the man who asked him the question, but it's hard to tell because his vision is starting to get blurry. He makes a move to leave the table, but promptly falls to his knees. _Why is this happening so suddenly?_

 

The last think Billy registers before his vision goes black is Miranda rising from her seat and saying, "Sorry, sir, I apologize for his behavior, I'll take him back to the hotel."

 

* * *

 

When Billy finally comes to his senses, he can make out a white stucco ceiling. He realizes he's on his back and on a bed. Turning his head to the side against the protests of his stiff neck, he assesses that he's back in his hotel room. But there is something wrong, something his cloudy mind can't quite decipher. He feels cold. Why does he feel cold? Right, he isn't wearing a shirt. Wait, why...?

 

When Billy instinctively tries to move an arm to his bare torso, he finds he is unable to. Is it because his body is still too weak?

 

No. His wrists are encircled by cold metal. He shakes his hand, and there is a sound of metal clanking against the backboard of the bed. _F-Fuck...what...what the hell is going on...?_

 

That's when he realizes it's not just his hands that are restrained. His ankles are also tethered to the bedposts near the foot of the bed. Before Billy has the chance to react, he's interrupted.

 

"Finally awake, are you?"

 

It's Miranda. Oh god, it's Miranda. _Miranda, you gotta get me outta here_ , he wants to say, maybe make a joke about being in a 'bit of a bind'. But he still lacks control over his voice, so he just watches her for a bit and he notices...she's not going to let him out.

 

"W...What...?" Billy croaks, his voice hoarse and his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

 

"I guess you're still having difficulty realizing the situation you're in," Miranda sighs, moving over to sit on the bed beside Billy. "You've got the stupidest look on your face."

 

Billy wants to protest, but it's true, he really has no idea what the fuck is going on. Wait, no, it couldn't be...

 

"Is this a _sex thing_ Miranda? I thought you didn't mix work and pleasure. All you had to do was ask," Billy tries to sound smooth like usual, but his voice remains unsteady. Miranda's lips curve into a smirk, and you know, Billy thinks for a second that she _is_ rather pretty and all. He looks at her dark stained lips, her deep, almost purple hair and thinks - yeah, she is kinda beautiful, actually. However, his thoughts are suddenly shattered when she lets out a cold laugh.

 

"Oh, Billy. You really are such a fool. Tonight you're all mine, yes. But also," she smiles, and it's a wicked smile, a smile that makes Billy's insides churn. "Tonight I'm going to kill you."

 

Billy freezes, his skin suddenly cold. Had...had he heard right? He has to be dreaming, right, or something - he clearly isn't of sound mind. Or maybe this is some sort of sick joke, because this just can't be real, she couldn't have _possibly_ just said that. That would just be comic book villain bullshit. Real life isn't like that, people don't actually do things like that, and certainly not the people in his life...right?

 

"It's a great headline, isn't it? _'Star dies night before the Grammy Ceremony'_."

 

No, no, no, no, no-

 

"M-m-miranda, this is fuckin' crazy, you can't do this! This isn't you!"

 

She slaps his face, his skin stinging and no doubt bright red.

 

"You always did lack proper manners, Billy. Don't call a lady by just her first name! Call me _Madame_ ," she purrs. She slowly caresses the cheek she slapped and it sends a tremor down Billy's spine. "And you _really_ think I can't do it?" She laughs, her body shaking against Billy's, each laugh slicing through the air like a knife. "You're such an idiot sometimes, Billy. I've already killed four people. What makes you so sure I can't kill one more?"

 

Billy's mouth suddenly goes dry as everything's finally fitting together - but the image the puzzle pieces are creating is so terrifying he can't bear to look at it or acknowledge it and _God, could she really have killed Spencer's family?_

 

"W-why?" Billy chokes out, still reeling from shock.

 

"Because after I'd killed you, they would get your house. That mansion is _mine_ , just like you and everything else you own. So, if they would do something as _despicable_ as taking your home from me, why shouldn't I take theirs? And if they all died in the process...well that would just make things more convenient, wouldn't it?"

 

A wave of nausea hits Billy and he seizes against Miranda's body. "Y-you're sick! They never did anything to you! Y-You killed them, y-you killed Spence...and for _what_? Some fucked up idea that everything I have belongs to you?"

 

" _You_ belong to me," she hisses, and Billy struggles against the restraints, yelling in fit of rage, wishing desperately he could do _something_ to punish her for what she did. She slaps him again, punctuating it with a cold laugh. "Or do you really think otherwise?"

 

Billy's about to make some kind of retort when she reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls something out of it; Billy registers a clicking sound and the glint of metal before realizing it's a switchblade. "F-F-Fuck," he stutters, "P-Please don't kill me, Miranda."

 

She slaps him again, but he barely registers the sting through his fear and the adrenaline shooting throughout his body. "I told you not to call me Miranda. Show some respect. Madame Xavier or just Madame will be sufficient. Go on, say it," she orders sharply.

 

Billy doesn't want to do it, he doesn't want to do _anything_ she says; she's a killer, she's a monster, but he _doesn't want to die_ and if he's gonna die please dear god _can it please not hurt-_

 

"Yes, Madame."

 

"Good," she says with a smile. Billy thinks he's never seen a smile quite so ugly in his life, but he keeps the thought to himself. "No more distractions, now. I'm tired of fucking around."

 

Billy shivers, kicking his legs against the restraints in futility. "Mi-Madame, think about this. If you kill me, people will find out. You're a great agent with a great career. You don't want to lose me, lose your job! You don't want to end up in prison! Sure, okay, you'd _hypothetically_ get all of my belongings without any next of kin but-"

 

"They won't know it's me. They'll never get me."

 

"Y-You're insane! There's no fuckin' way you can actually hide th-" He's cut off by another slap, but this time he also feels something cold against his throat. It's the switchblade. He dare not even breathe.

 

"After that little show I staged at dinner, is it really so much of a stretch for someone to find you dead of accidental overdose tomorrow? Or just hurting yourself in some drug-addled stupor?" she whispers.

 

"I-I-I don't understand," Billy stutters, trying to keep his throat still. "If you want me dead, why were you so upset when I almost died before?"

 

She leans over to his ear and he closes his eyes because this just can't be real, it just can't be happening, and it's all so fucked up. The cold metal against his throat and Miranda's hot breath against his ear are his entire world right now and all he wants is to run away. "Because I have to be the one to kill you, Billy. And before I kill you we're going to have some fun," she whispers ominously. "I'm going to make _all of you_ mine."

 

Billy's eyes jolt open when he realizes the implication; a gasp escapes from his throat and the knife cuts enough into it that it stings and he feels a trickle of warm blood. _Jesus, no, no, NO, anything but this-_

 

And then, suddenly, the hand of God knocks over a vase on the dresser across the room— a dull thunk on the carpeted floor.

 

Miranda jumps up from the bed, and Billy breathes a sigh of relief when the knife leaves his neck. She tenses, giving the room a cursory glance before deciding its nothing. He can see her thoughts dancing wildly across her eyes, thoughts of _what was that? is something there? no, it's nothing_ , before she turns back to him.

 

A mirror falls off the wall and shatters.

 

It's then that Billy realizes it isn't God, or coincidence, or a miracle - it's _Spencer_. Miranda's eyes are wide with the terror of being discovered, maybe even the terror of divine retribution, as she walks over to the mirror. That's when Billy sees the key to his restraints floating over from the top of the dresser towards him. It previously must have been placed near the rest of Billy's things - his garments, his cell phone, his watch. He wants to thank Spencer but he's too afraid to speak, too afraid to catch her attention again. The key turns in the lock and releases his right arm with a click - a sound normally inaudible, but deafening in the silence. Miranda turns back to Billy immediately, eyes wide with madness, switchblade brandished in her hand. She realizes his hand is free and screams, god, such an _unholy scream_ , and Billy is able to turn his body just in time to dodge a stab at his torso while Spencer hurriedly frees his other arm.

 

Billy's thoughts speed by, and he wonders if Spencer's realizing it as well: that there isn't possibly enough time for Spencer to completely free him before Miranda can kill him. She raises her arm again, preparing for another strike and Billy grabs it, using all of his strength to keep the knife away from him. Her arm is shaking, as is Billy's - it's like she's summoned some sort of inhuman strength, made some sort of pact with the Devil, and Billy's not sure how long he can hold her back.

 

 _Click_. His left foot is free.

 

"What the hell is happening?" Miranda screams, gathering renewed strength in the arm that holds the knife. Billy deflects the blow sideways, the blade ripping into the mattress, then maneuvers out from under her. With only one foot still tethered, he almost has free range of motion. But she's fast, god she's fast; the knife is coming down to his chest and the split second Billy's mind uses to process what's happening doesn't leave him enough time to move-

 

Suddenly a force pushes Miranda aside, causing her to tumble to the floor in a heap of limbs. She shakily tries to rise, but she's trembling in a disturbing manner. Billy sees blood underneath her, and for a split second has this urge to check on her, make sure she's okay - because this is _Miranda_ , his agent, the one who was always looking after him and taking care of him. But the click of the final restraint knocks him back into reality, the reality where Miranda isn't protecting him but trying to kill him, and he dashes for the door even though he's unsteady on his feet.

 

He slams the room door behind him, trying to block out what just happened, and attempts to come back to his senses as he runs to the elevator. He practically punches the call button, and for a moment the only sounds are his heavy breathing and the beeping of the elevator as it passes all the floors below him. _Why the hell did I want the top floor, again?_

 

Billy nervously shifts his gauge from the elevator floor display to the door of his room. Every passing second the elevator remains out of reach feels like an eternity. Sweat beads on his forehead, and when the elevator is just two floors away he notices the handle of his door down the hall begin to shakily turn. _Fuck, no, no-_

 

The ring of the elevator arriving is marked by the opening swing of his room door, but Billy doesn't spare it another glance. He hops in the elevator, frantically pressing the "close door" button over and over again. He hears Miranda, he hears her choking out his name - but the elevator doors shut before he can hear anything else. Billy reaches for his jacket pocket instinctively, forgetting it’s not there and cursing himself for not grabbing the watch or at least his cell phone. But to be fair, he was pretty fucking distracted.

 

Billy's thoughts are racing along with his heart as he leans back against the elevator. He'll go down to the desk, call the police, tell them some homicidal woman is probably still crawling around in their fancy-ass hotel getting blood all over their expensive carpet and _fuck_ he really can't process this. He's afraid if he seriously thinks about what's just occurred instead of forcing some semblance of nonchalance he'll lose it. He puts a shaking head to his forehead, as if he could physically ground his thoughts. _Breathe in, breathe out._ He remembers calming Spencer in the same way, a time that feels so long ago. _Spencer_.

 

"You've...been practicing. Touching things, I mean," Billy says to the empty elevator compartment, his voice laced with exhaustion, appreciation, and a bit of forced mirth. He exhales slowly, reminding himself this isn't over, Miranda's still out there, but maybe things will be okay. He’s not alone.

 

"Looks like you've saved my life again, Spencer."

 

There's no response. But then again, there couldn't be, right? Billy doesn't have the watch. He forces a single laugh, one devoid of mirth, and his fingers ghost over the place on his wrist where the watch belongs.

 

_Go downstairs, Billy. Call the police. When this is all over, you can get your shit back. You can get the watch. You’ll be with Spencer and you won’t ever have to think about this again._

 

* * *

 

"And how does it feel, Mr. Cobra, being one of only eight people to have received the Record of the Year, Album of the Year, and Song of the Year in one night?"

 

The ceremony is over, and the inevitable questions follow. Billy fiddles with Spencer's watch, returned to the place it belongs. _You really don't wanna ask how I'm feeling, Keyser Broze._

 

"Feels good," Billy says flatly.

 

"Just...good?"

 

Billy smiles at the camera, trying to be charming. "I'm sure it will feel way better tomorrow after some rest. "

 

A chuckle. "Understandable, sir. Especially considering recent circumstances. I was informed your manager was hospitalized last night. How did it feel accepting those awards without such a supportive figure in your life being there?"

 

_Insensitive as ever._

 

"You can probably imagine how I felt," Billy says. Better to be vague. Better to lie. _Smile for the cameras, Billy Joe Cobra, they’re your livelihood._

 

"Right, sorry, that was rather personal. Well, we all certainly do hope that her condition improves."

 

Billy thinks about the figure lying on that hospital bed, unconscious. How strange it had been to have their positions switched, to see that strong woman completely powerless. Her face had looked so peaceful, unmarred by the years of work that had led to obsession. It had reminded him of when he first met her, a rising professional trying to erase the remnants of her Southern accent and willing to take a chance on some overconfident kid.

 

Billy was the only visitor. He realizes now that she's just as alone as he had been before he met Spencer. Spencer...the boy she killed. He has to remind himself that she killed him, killed his entire family, stolen away all of the experiences that belonged to Spencer that he would never have. She's not the woman she used to be, and things will never be like they were before. Especially now that-

 

"Mr. Cobra? Are you alright?"

 

The voice jolts him from his thoughts.

 

"R-Right. Just a lot going on," Billy mutters, running his thumb over the watch face in his discomfort. "Just...thinkin' about how one person can really change your life, you know?"

 

"Ah, I see. Well, I hope such an important figure in your life will recover quickly. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cobra."

 

_Thank you, Spence._

 

_It’s stupid to thank you in my head, isn’t it? Well, I guess it wouldn’t make a difference if I said it outloud, would it?_

 

He's taken the watch on and off more times than he can count since he went back to retrieve it, but he can't see or hear Spencer anymore. He can only guess what happened to Spencer, when he disappeared, and why he’s gone. Billy doesn't know where you go after you die, much less where you go after you stop being a ghost. He kinda likes to pretend Spencer's actually still there, just quiet - as selfish as that is.

 

_I should want you to be with your family, huh?_

 

It’s fuckin’ unfair, and it doesn’t make sense - people will tell you that’s how life is, though. Billy had always thought that didn’t apply to him, that he’d rigged the system and his life wasn’t subject to the rules that governed the lives of others. It hurts to be proven so wrong, but if Billy doesn’t force himself forward he’ll just fall backward - and he owes it to Spencer not to let that happen. He’d promised, and that’s one promise he’s gonna fuckin’ keep.

 

_Well, wherever you are Spence, I hope you're happy. And, well, more than anything...I hope you're watching. I'll make it worth it, okay, bromigo? I'll make my life one that was worth saving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it's over. Thanks for sticking around and reading this 'till the end (which, hopefully, you don't totally hate me for). I enjoyed writing this lil' dude, and the comments you guys made mean a lot to me.
> 
> I really wanted to make an AU that seemed like it could have been a branch point from the original universe. One that gave Madame X a place in the story, one where just a few events prevented one universe from becoming the original. I hope I was at least somewhat successful in communicating that.
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone for your support! Special shoutout to my main bro for attempting (but failing) to remove cheese from my diet and giving me that nice lil' tulip glass of La Fin Du Monde.


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